Underhive Tales: Hemalt
by Michael Pumabi
Summary: A rework of pre-Imperial work "Hamlet" from William Shakespear by Necromundan playwright Phildeaux Quakespire circa M38. Originally performed for the nobility of Hive Primus. A tale of betrayal, murder and insanity among the noble houses of Hive Decemus.
1. Prolog

**Historians Notes**

For his sixth work "Hemalt", Phildeaux Quakespire returned to the hive nobility of Necromunda for his inspiration. Considering his experience with the Noble Houses of Hive Primus after the premier of "Malgeth," concerning their families' depictions in that historical drama, Quakespire chose to set his latest piece in Hive Decemus. Being half a world away from his home in Hive Primus, Quakespire would be safe from any repercussions that could result from his portrayals of Decemus' Noble Houses. Considering the subject matter of "Hemalt," a tale of fratricide, regicide and madness, this was probably in Quakespire's best interests.

"Hemalt" takes place in early M36, a time when many of the hives on Necromunda were growing ever taller. Inter-hive conflicts were more common, with each hive's noble houses competing for the favor of the Imperial Governor and lucrative off-world contracts. The head of House Dunmarc, which ruled Hive Decemus at the time, is murdered and it is up to his son to solve the crime and bring his father's killers to justice. The drama is filled with the supernatural, murder, revenge, and obsession.

The Noble Houses of the hives portrayed in the drama did not respond well to it's performance in their own hives. It soon became common place for troupes of dramatacists in other hives to stage performances with a few changes to location and character name. One notable troupe spent ten years performing underground versions of the play in Hive Septemus under the title "Helmawr" and set in Hive Primus, until the arrest of the troupes' director by Adeptus Arbites.

**Archivists Note:** In its present form, _Underhive Tales by Phildeaux Quakespire_ can be traced back to the dramatic resurgence of M38. Originally performed for nobles in the Spire of Hive Primus, _Underhive Tales_ eventually found their way down into the upper levels of Hive City, where they were enthusiastically received. For much of M38 and into M39, a troupe of performers formed by Quakespire traveled between the hives of Necromunda, performing for vast audiences in the upper cities as well as intimate gatherings of nobles in the tips of the spires.

Many of the tales are believed to date back to the original founding of Necromunda, and may be translations of ancient works originally written in Old Midanglo, a language in which Quakespire was fluent. Whatever their source, _Underhive Tales_ speak to a wide variety of the citizens, with tales from the earliest founding of Necromunda (Pre-hive days) to more current stories involving the first neuro-zombie plagues.

_**Authors Note:**__ In NO WAY is the author claiming Underhive Tales by Phildeaux Quakespire are original works of fiction. All names have been changed in an attempt to prevent embarrassment to beloved works of literature. Phildeaux Quakespire is the pen name of a former Necromundan translator/historian who discovered a volume of William Shakespear's works in a stasis pod while working for House Helmawr in the Spire of Hive Primus. He kept the discovery secret, translated the works, added some local colloquialisms, and passed the works off as his own._


	2. Chapter 1

Part One – The First Bit

_Hive Decemus on Necromunda. A landing platform high in the hive. It is nearing midnight. Bardo and Fiscan enter, on guard duty._

Bardo: Who goes there?

Fiscan: No, you tell me! Identify yourself!

Bardo: "Long live the Emperor!"

Fiscan: Bardo?

Bardo: Yes.

Fiscan: Good, you're right on time.

Bardo: Yes, it's just turned twelve. Time for you to go off duty.

Fiscan: Thanks very much. It's bitter cold out here tonight, and I'm tired of this watch.

Bardo: How's it been?

Fiscan: Nothing stirs up here.

Bardo: Good night, then. Heraht or Marsel also have guard duty tonight. If you see them, tell them to hurry up.

Fiscan: I think I hear them coming now.

_(Heraht and Marsel enter)_

Halt! Who goes there?

Heraht: Friends.

Marsel: And loyal citizens of Hive Decemus.

Fiscan: Good night to you.

Marsel: Ah, good night, my friend. Who relieved you?

Fiscan: Bardo has relieved me. Good night.

_(Fiscan leaves)_

Marsel: Hello? Bardo? Hey!

Bardo: Hey, what? Is Heraht there?

Heraht: A piece of him.

Bardo: Hello, Heraht. Hello, Marsel.

Heraht: Well, has this thing appeared again tonight?

Bardo: I haven't seen a thing.

Marsel: Heraht thinks it is only our imagination. He doesn't believe we've seen this scary thing twice already. I managed to convince him to join us on our watch in case this apparition should show up again. He'll see for himself, and try to talk to it.

Heraht: Oh, please. Nothing is going to happen.

Bardo: Sit down for awhile, and we'll see if we can't convince you of what we've seen up here these past two nights.

Heraht: Fine, let's all have a seat. Then Bardo can tell his story.

Bardo: Last night, when the small moon was at it's zenith, like it is now, Marsel and myself were on duty. It had just turned one -

_(The Ghost enters)_

Marsel: Shh! Be quiet! Look, there it is again!

Bardo: Just like before. See, is looks just like the dead Governor.

Marsel: You're a smart man. Talk to it, Heraht.

Bardo: Doesn't it look like the late Governor? See, Heraht?

Heraht: Very much so. I can't believe it. It gives me the chills.

Bardo: I think it wants to be spoken to.

Marsel: Ask it something, Heraht.

Heraht: What are you that appears in the night, dressed in the armor the late Governor of Hive Decemus used to wear? By the Golden Throne, answer me!

_(The Ghost turns to leave)_

Marsel: You've offended it.

Bardo: See, it's drifting away.

Heraht: Stop! Speak! Talk to me! I demand a reply!

_(The Ghost leaves)_

Marsel: It left, and wouldn't answer.

Bardo: Well, Heraht? You're shaking, and look pale. Isn't this something more than our imagination? What do you think about it?

Heraht: With the Emperor himself as my witness, I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it myself.

Marsel: Doesn't it look like the late Governor?

Heraht: As much as you look like yourself. That was the armor he was wearing when he fought old Forzinbrass of Hive Noctemus. He had that same frown when he fought the tundra nomads as they crossed the frozen plains to the south. It's very strange.

Marsel: And twice before, in the dead of night, at this exact time, actually, he has passed by us on this watch, walking with that military stride.

Heraht: I don't know what to think about this. But I get the feeling that this does not bode well for our hive.

Marsel: Right then. Sit down and tell me, if either of you can, why we have this guard duty every night. Why are the armories churning out autocannons and heavy stubbers? Why are lasgun shipments coming in from other hives? Why are the mechanics working seven-day weeks? What threat accounts for this around-the-clock labor? Can anyone tell me?

Heraht: I can explain. Or at least, this is the rumor. Our last Governor, who's image just appeared to us, was challenged to single combat by the arrogant Forzinbrass of Hive Noctemus. Our valiant governor – as he was commonly regarded- killed Forzinbrass, and won all his holdings in and around Hive Noctemus according to the formal challenge contract both of them had signed. Our governor had wagered as much on the challenge, which Forzinbrass would have claimed if he had won. Now his son, young Forzinbrass, has raised, essentially, a gang of ruffians from all over Noctemus and the surrounding nomads and intends to recover his lost inheritance through force. As I understand it, this is why the armories are humming, you are standing guard, and the whole hive is buzzing with activity.

Bardo: I'm sure you're right. That could be why this ghost appears dressed in armor and looks like the late governor, who was, and still is, a central player in this conflict.

Heraht: It troubles my mind. It's like a scene from that play, "Julian Sleezer", when, just before Sleezer was assassinated, the tombs opened and the spirits howled through the streets. Lightning discharged through the heights of the dome, and almost all light was totally extinguished. Similar omens predicting future tragedies have been seen in our hive before, both in the skies and here on the ground.

_(The Ghost enters)_

Quiet! Look, it has come back! I'll confront it, even though it may blast me.

_(The Ghost spreads its arms)_

Stay, specter! If you are able to speak, talk to me. If there's anything I can do, to bring you peace and me some grace, tell me. If you know something about our hive's fate, which we may avoid with your knowledge, tell us! Or maybe you've got a hoard of ill-gotten treasure, which some say bind ghosts to life, tell us about it! Stay and talk!

_(A ray of sunlight falls on the platform. The Ghost turns to leave.)_

Stop it, Marsel!

Marsel: Should I butt it with my lasgun?

Heraht: Yes, if it won't stay put!

Bardo: It's over here.

Heraht: No, it's over there.

_(The Ghost leaves)_

Marsel: It's gone. We were wrong to threaten it. It's like the air, you can't hurt it. Our attacks were useless and just a waste of effort.

Bardo: It was about to speak, when the sun rose.

Heraht: And then it started, like it was surprised by something. I've heard that the sun's rays will drive wandering spirits back to their homes, where ever they may be. I think this specter proves the truth of that legend.

Marsel: It vanished when the first ray broke the sky. Some say when both moons are full, no ghost dares to roam. The night is free from evil, hive spirits make no mischief, and wytches cannot cast spells because that time is blessed by the Emperor himself.

Heraht: I've heard those stories as well, and I'm inclined to believe them. But look, the sun is rising there in the east. Let's head home. I think we should tell young Hemalt what we've seen tonight. I'd bet my life that this ghost will talk to him, since it won't speak to us. Do you agree that we should tell him about this, out of friendship and duty?

Marsel: Yes, let's do that. I know where we can find him this early in the morning.

_(They all leave)_

Part One – The Second Bit

_The Governor of Decemus' court-room. A fanfare heralds the arrival of the governor. Clavus, the new governor of Decemus enters. He is accompanied by his wife Glynnude. They are followed by the Council, which includes Voltmann and Carnalous; Polon Suiarc and his son Lerate Suiarc; Hemalt, and others. _

Clavus: Though the death of my brother Hemalt is still fresh in our minds, and though we mourned for him, and our whole hive joined with us as one in our sorrow, nevertheless common sense has overcome our feelings so that we can mourn him with a clear mind, and remember our own interests and responsibilities. And so, we have married our former sister-in-law, who sits besides us and jointly rules our warlike hive-state. We did this, as it were, with a downhearted sort of happiness. With joy on one hand and sorrow on the other, bringing happiness to the funeral and sorrow to the marriage, delight and misery were evenly balanced. Nor have we disregarded your wise counsel, which was fully supportive and freely given. Thank you for everything. Next, some news that you already know. Young Forzinbrass, who holds us in low esteem, or thinks that we are disordered and disorganized because of our dear brother's death, has attempted to further his ambitious dreams by pestering us with messages demanding the return of the lands and properties his father lost, entirely legally, to our most valiant brother. So much for him. Now our response, and the reason for this meeting, is this: we have written the Governor of Noctemus, young Forzinbrass's uncle, who is powerless and bedridden and hardly aware of his nephew's actions, to stop him from advancing further, since the majority of the forces he is using are his uncle's subjects. And so we are dispatching you, good Carnalous, and you, Voltmann, as the bearers of this greeting to the old Governor of Noctemus. You are given no personal powers to negotiate with the Governor beyond what is described at length on this dataslate. Farewell, and make haste.

Carn., Volt.: In this, as in all things, we will perform our duty.

Clavus: We do not doubt you. Fare you well.

_(Carnalous and Voltmann leave)_

And now, Lerate, what's the news with you? You mentioned some request. What is it, Lerate? You can make no reasonable request to the Dummarc and waste your breath. What is your request, Lerate, that I would not grant you without you asking? The head is not as tied to the heart, nor the hand more helpful to the mouth, than the seat of Dummarc is to your father. What would you ask, Lerate?

Lerate: My liege lord, I ask for your leave and blessing to return to Secundus. Though I willingly came to Decemus to show my loyalty at your investment, I must now confess, now that my duty is done, my thoughts and desires return to Secundus, and I beg your leave and pardon.

Clavus: What does your father say? Do you have Polon's permission?

Polon: He has, my lord, received my grudging consent through his constant pleading. In the end, I gave in to his will. I beseech you, give him leave to go.

Clavus: Enjoy yourself while you're young, Lerate. Time is yours, use your talents how you think best. But now, my nephew Hemalt, and my son...

Hemalt: _(aside)_ More than his kin, but not of his kind.

Clavus: Why are you still under the clouds?

Hemalt: Not so, my lord. I'm too much in the sun.

Glynnude: Hemalt, dear, discard your black mood and look at the Governor with a more friendly eye. Do not keep your eyes downcast, looking for your father in the dust. You know this is normal. Everything that lives must die, passing through it's life on to eternity.

Hemalt: Yes, madam. It is normal.

Glynnude: If so, why does it seem so peculiar to you?

Hemalt: Seems, madam? No, it is. I don't know seems. It's not simply my black mood, dear mother, or my mourning clothes or heavy sighs. My river of tears and my dejected looks, together with all the forms, moods, or expressions of grief, cannot accurately reflect my true feelings. These things do seem, since they are things a man can fake. But I have something inside me that truly is, beyond these trappings and formalities of grief.

Clavus: It is sweet, and speaks well to your nature, Hemalt, that you so dutifully mourn your father. But you must know that your father lost a father, and that lost father lost his father as well. And the survivors were duty-bound as sons to go into periods of deep mourning. But to persist in obstinate sorrow is a show of faithless stubbornness. It's unmanly grief. It shows a willful disrespect of heaven, an empty heart, an impatient mind, an understanding that is simple and ignorant. Why should we take personally what we know must be, for it is as common as any vulgar thing you can sense? It's an offense to the Throne, an insult to the dead, an insult to nature and an affront to reason. The death of fathers is common, and we have shouted from the death of the first to the the death of the one today, "This must be so!" We hope you will discard this purposeless grief, and look upon us as you would a father. For it must be known, that you are first in line for our seat, and I feel for you no less noble love than a father bears for his son. As for your desire to return to training at Wisenburg, it is not what we would wish. We ask you to stay here, in the cheer and comfort of our presence, as the highest-ranking member of our Council, our nephew, and our son.

Glynnude: Don't let your mother's prayers be lost, Hemalt. I pray you will stay with us; do not go back to Wisenburg.

Hemalt: I will obey you the best I can, madam.

Clavus: There's a loving and courteous reply. Act like us in Decemus. Madam, come. Hemalt's gentle and unforced consent warms my heart. To celebrate, I'll not drink to health without firing a macro-cannon to inform the clouds, and the heavens will proclaim my toast again by echoing the thunder from the earth below. Come, let's adjourn.

_(Everyone leaves except Hemalt)_

Hemalt: If only this too solid flesh would melt, thaw and turn to dew. Or that the Emperor had not forbidden suicide. Emperor! Emperor! How weary, stale, bland and uninteresting everything in this world seems to me. A curse on it, a curse! It's an untended garden that's gone to seed, the only things in it are rank and foul. That it has come to this! Only two months dead, no, not even two! Such an excellent Governor! He compares with this one like the Sigillite compares to a coven wytch. He was so loving to my mother that he made sure the wind never blew too roughly in her face. Emperor, must I remember this? Why, she would cling to him as if she couldn't get enough of him. And yet, less than a month later...I mustn't think about this! Frailty is a synonym for woman! A mere month, the shoes she wore to follow his corpse weren't even broken in yet. She wept inconsolably...why her, of all women? Throne Above, animals mourn longer! And she marries my uncle! My father's brother, who's no more like my father than I am like an Astartes! Within a month, before her tears had even stopped flowing, and she was remarried! Oh, wicked speed! To hop so quickly into an incestuous bed! It's not right, and no good can come of this. But my heart must break, because I must hold my tongue.

_(Heraht, Marsel and Bardo enter)_

Heraht: Greetings, you lordship.

Hemalt: I'm glad to see you're well. Heraht, if I remember correctly?

Heraht: Indeed, my lord. And your humble servant ever.

Hemalt: Sir, my good friend, I'll change names with you. Why have you come from Wisenburg, Heraht? Oh, Marsel?

Marel: My lord.

Hemalt: It's good to see you. _(To Bardo):_ And a good evening to you, sir. But why have you come from Wisenburg?

Heraht: I have a tendency to truancy, my lord.

Hemalt: I wouldn't let your enemy say that about you, so I don't want you to offend my ears by saying such things about yourself. I know you are no truant. Why are you here in Decemus? We'll give you drinking lessons before you leave.

Heraht: My lord, I came for your father's funeral.

Hemalt: Don't make fun of me, fellow student. I think you came for my mother's wedding.

Heraht: Indeed my lord. It did take place very soon afterward.

Hemalt: Waste not, Heraht. The leftovers from the funeral were served cold for the wedding breakfast. I'd rather meet my worst enemy before the Golden Throne, Heraht, before witnessing a day like that. My father...I think I see my father...

Heraht: Where, my lord?

Hemalt: In my mind's eye, Heraht.

Heraht: I saw him once. He was a fine governor.

Hemalt: He was a man, a great man. I'll never see anyone like him again.

Heraht: My lord, I think I saw him last night.

Hemalt: Saw? Who?

Heraht: My lord, your father the governor.

Hemalt: My father the governor?

Heraht: Restrain yourself and listen carefully while I describe this marvel to you. These gentlemen are witnesses.

Hemalt: For love of the Emperor, tell me!

Heraht: For two nights in a row these gentlemen, Marsel and Bardo, were on watch in the middle of the night and were confronted by this vision: A figure like your father, armored like your father in every detail from head to foot, appeared before them and walked past them with a slow and solemn pace. Three times he's past before their awestruck eyes, closer than a sword-length. Paralyzed with fright, they stand amazed and don't speak to him. They confided this to me, and so I joined them on the third night, where, just like they had said, at the exact time and in the exact manner, the specter appears. I recognized your father. My own hands are not more similar.

Hemalt: But where was this?

Marsel: My lord, up on the landing platform were we keep watch.

Hemalt: And you didn't talk to it?

Heraht: My lord, I tried, but it didn't reply. But once, I think, it lifted it's head to say something, but then dawn broke and it hurried away and vanished from our sight.

Hemalt: That's very strange.

Heraht: My lord, on my life this is true. We thought it was our duty to let you know about this.

Hemalt: Of course, sirs. But this troubles me. Are you on watch tonight?

All: We are, my lord.

Hemalt: Did you say it was armed?

All: Armed, my lord.

Hemalt: From head to toe?

All: From head to foot, my lord

Hemalt: Then you didn't see his face?

Heraht: We did, my lord. He wore the face plate up.

Hemalt: How did he look? Fierce, like a warrior?

Heraht: He looked more sad than angry.

Hemalt: Pale or red?

Heraht: Very pale.

Hemalt: And did he fix his eyes upon you?

Heraht: Most definitely.

Hemalt: I wish I'd been there.

Heraht: It would have astounded you.

Hemalt: Most likely. Did it stay long?

Heraht: Long enough that you could count to a hundred reasonably quickly.

Marsel/Bardo: Longer, longer!

Heraht: Not when I saw him.

Hemalt: Was his beard streaked with grey?

Heraht: It was like I'd seen it when he was alive. Black streaked with silver.

Hemalt: I'll come watch tonight. Maybe it will return.

Heraht: I'm sure it will.

Hemalt: If it does look like my father, I'll talk to it, even if the warp itself should open wide and tell me to hold my peace. I would ask you all, if you've kept silent about this so far, keep silent a bit longer. And no matter what happens tonight, watch closely but say nothing about what you witness. I will repay your loyalty. So farewell, and I'll meet you on the platform between eleven and twelve.

All: We swear our duty to your honor.

Hemalt: Your oaths as well, and you have mine. Goodbye.

_(Heraht, Marsel, and Bardo leave)_

The ghost of my father...in armor! All is not well. I suspect some foul play. I wish it were evening. I must be patient until then. Evil deeds will surface, no matter how deeply they've been buried.

_(Hemalt leaves)_

Part One – The Third Bit

_The home of Polon Suiarc. Lerate and his sister Ophia enter._

Lerate: My luggage has been taken up. Farewell, sister. Write to me whenever you can.

Ophia: Do you doubt me?

Lerate: As for Hemalt, and his supposed interest in you, regard it as a mere fashion and youthful flirtation. A quick blooming, over quickly, pleasing but not enduring, sweet but just a passing fancy. Nothing more.

Ophia: Nothing more than that?

Lerate: Nothing more. Maturity is not just a matter of muscle and height. As our body grows, so too grows our minds and souls. Perhaps he does love you now, and there is no taint in his emotions. But you must remember, because of his station, his will is not his own. He is bound by his birth. He may not, as lesser people can, make his own way. The safety and health of this entire hive depends upon his choices, and so his choices must be for the benefit of the hive he rules. So if he says he loves you, you can believe it only so far as a man in his position is allowed to turn his words into deeds, which is no farther than the populace of the hive will approve. So weigh how much you may lose if you put too much belief in his love songs, or if you fall for him, or if you give your virginity to his self-indulgent desires. Fear it, Ophia, fear it, my dear sister. Keep your heart and yourself out of harm's way. Only reveal yourself to the moons above, since virtue will not protect you against scandals. Too often the young are ruined before they are fully mature. So beware, and keep yourself safe with fear. Youth will harm itself without outside influences.

Ophia: I'll take your words to heart. But, my dear brother, don't be like on of those corrupt preachers, the ones who show the hard and uncomfortable path to the Golden Throne while they grow bloated with sin and travel the path of wanton pleasure, ignoring their own advice.

Lerate: Don't worry about me.

_(Polon enters)_

I should be going. Here comes our father. Two blessings on a farewell are twice as good as one. Fortune smiles upon a second blessing.

Polon: Still here, Lerate? You should be aboard already, the shuttle is waiting for you. Here, take my blessing with you, and these words of wisdom. Never say what you are thinking, or put hasty thoughts into action. Be friendly, but don't embarrass yourself. Those friends who have proven their friendship, bind them to your soul with bands of adamant. But don't offer the hand of friendship to every new, unproven, overly-familiar acquaintance. Beware of starting arguments, but once you're in, make sure your opponent gets more than they bargained for. Listen to everything, but say little. Listen to others opinions, but keep your own to yourself. Dress as well as you can, but avoid the trappings of excessive fashion. Quality over flashiness, for you can often tell a lot about a man by the cut of his clothes. Secundus nobles are particularly discriminating when it comes to this. Do not borrow or lend to others. Loans often lose both the money and the friend, and borrowing leads to excessive spending. And this above all other things: be consistent. Then it will be known as surely as night follows day that you will not be false to any man. Farewell. May my blessing impart this wisdom to you.

Lerate: I thank you most humbly for this, my lord.

Polon: Hurry along, then. Your aides are waiting on the shuttle.

Lerate: Farewell, Ophia, and don't forget what I've said to you.

Ophia: I've locked it in my memory, and only you will have the key.

Lerate: Farewell.

_(Lerate leaves)_

Polon: What did he say to you?

Ophia: If it please you, it was about Lord Hemalt.

Polon: Indeed? That was timely. I've been told that he has often seen you privately lately, and that you have been...generous...in your availability. If this is so, and people are keen to tell me as a warning, then I must tell you that you don't understand your position as clearly as you should, since you are my daughter and this affects your honor. What's going on between you? Tell me the truth.

Ophia: He has, my lord, professed his affection for me quite frequently lately.

Polon: Affection? Tut, you speak like a little girl, unfamiliar with such perilous matters. Do you believe his professions, as you call them?

Ophia: I don't know what I should think, my lord.

Polon: Well then, I will have to teach you. Consider yourself a baby, who has taken these tenders for real currency, but they are counterfeit. Tender yourself at a higher rate or, at the risk of straining the expression, you will tender me a love child.

Ophia: My lord! He has pursued me in an honorable fashion!

Polon: Yes, you may indeed call it fashion. Go on, go on.

Ophia: And he has back up his words, my lord, with almost all the holy vows of heaven!

Polon: Yes, traps to catch fools. I know how quickly vows are spoken when passions are aroused. These flares, daughter, lack both light and heat and disappear as soon as they are struck, unlike true fire. From now on, you must be more restrictive in your time together. Don't give in to the first request for a meeting. As for Lord Hemalt, believe that he is young and has more freedom than you have. In short, Ophia, do not believe his holy vows. They do not show their true colors, and make requests for sinful actions. They sound like honorable and holy words in order to deceive you better. This is my final word. In plain terms, I do not want you to waste your leisure time talking with Lord Hemalt. Listen to me, do as I say. Come along.

Ophia: I shall obey, my lord.

(They leave)

Part One – The Fourth Bit

_Late at night up on the upper landing platform. Hemalt, Heraht, and Marsel enter._

Hemalt: That wind is fierce and very cold.

Heraht: It's a bitter wind.

Hemalt: What time is it?

Heraht: Nearly midnight.

Marsel: No, it's past that.

Heraht: Really? I didn't hear the watch bell. It's almost the time when we saw the ghost last night.

_(A fanfare of trumpets and then a resounding boom is heard)_

What does that mean, my lord?

Hemalt: The Governor is celebrating tonight. Drinking deep, making merry, and dancing wildly. Whenever he drains his cup, the trumpets sound and they fire a blast from one of the macro-cannons to celebrate his toast.

Heraht: Is this a custom?

Hemalt: Unfortunately it is. But in my opinion, although I'm a Dummarc and born into this, it's a tradition better left unobserved. This drunken foolishness earns us scorn and shame with the other hive-states. They consider us drunkards, and insult our reputation by referring to us as swine. It reduces our achievements and our standing. Some people are affected in the same way. Maybe they have some genetic flaw (which isn't their fault, since we can't chose our ancestors), but these men, in spite of the virtues they do possess (even if they're pure and unsullied) will be corrupt, as far as public opinion is concerned, by this single fault. This small speck of evil often outweighs all the good in the man, and causes him scandals.

_(The Ghost enters)_

Heraht: Look, my lord. There it is!

Hemalt: Emperor and his Astartes protect us! I don't know if you're an angel or a demon, bringing a refreshing breeze or hellish wind, or if your intentions are wicked or benevolent, but you appear in a form so easy to question that I'll speak with you. I'll call you Hemalt, governor, father, noble Dummarc! Please answer me! Do not let me burst with ignorance, but tell me why you have thrown off the sacred rites placed upon your bones and burst open your tomb to walk among us again! What does it mean when you, a corpse, returns to us clad in armor during the moonlight, making the night terrifying? We simple men rack our brains, trying to understand realms beyond our knowledge. Tell us the reason! What do you want from us?

_(The Ghost beckons to Hemalt)_

Heraht: It beckons to you to follow it, like it wants to talk to you in private.

Marsel: It courteously waves you towards the other side of the platform. But don't go with it!

Heraht: No, by no means.

Hemalt: It won't talk here. Therefor, I'll go with it.

Heraht: Don't do it, my lord!

Hemalt: Why? What is there to fear? My life's not worth a pin. As for my soul, what can it do to that, since it's the same type of thing? It beckons me on again. I'll follow it.

Heraht: What if it leads you to the edge of the platform, my lord, and the dreadful drop that awaits over the side, and then it assumes some horrible form that drives you mad? Think about it. Just being on the edge of the platform makes many people think about leaping off into oblivion.

Hemalt: It's still beckoning me. Go on, I'll follow you.

Marsel: Do not go, my lord!

Hemalt: Get your hands off me!

Heraht: Listen to us! Don't follow it!

Hemalt: My fate cries out to me, and the smallest artery in my body screams at me to follow it. It is still calling me. Let go of me, gentleman! Throne Above, I'll make a ghost out of anyone who tries to stop me! Back off, I say! Go on, I'll follow you.

_(The Ghost leaves, followed by Hemalt)_

Heraht: He's imagination has driven him mad!

Marsel: We should follow him. It's not right to obey him.

Heraht: Yes, let's get after him. What will this lead to?

Marsel: There's something rotten in the hive-state of Decemus.

Heraht: The Emperor will sort it out.

Marsel: No, we must follow him!

_(They follow after the Ghost and Hemalt)_

Part One – The Fifth Bit

_The other side of the landing platform. The Ghost and Hemalt enter._

Hemalt: Where are you leading me? Answer me, or I'll go no further.

Ghost: Listen.

Hemalt: I will.

Ghost: Dawn is almost here, and then I must return to the infernal, tormenting flames.

Hemalt: Throne, you poor ghost.

Ghost: Don't give me your pity. Give me your full attention to what I must reveal.

Hemalt: Speak. I am bound to listen.

Ghost: And you will be bound to revenge once you have heard.

Hemalt: What?

Ghost: I am your father's ghost. I am doomed for a time to walk at night, and to spend my days burning away the wicked deeds I performed during my lifetime. But I am forbidden to reveal the secrets of my prison, or I could tell you a tale whose smallest word would terrify your soul, freeze your young blood, burst your eyes, straighten your curls and cause each straight hair to rise and stiffen. But revelations of the afterlife are not for flesh and blood ears. Listen to me, listen, oh listen! If you ever loved your father-

Hemalt: Emperor Above!

Ghost: -avenge his foul and unnatural murder.

Hamelt: Murder!

Ghost: Murder most foul. Even the best murder is foul, but this was unnatural and obscene.

Hamelt: Tell me quickly, so that I may fly faster than thought and seek my revenge.

Ghost: Well said. You'd have to be deep in the clutches of narcopium if this story doesn't enrage you. Now, Hemalt, listen. The official story is this: while I was sleeping in my gardens, a serpent escaped the terrarium and bit me. So everyone in Decemus has been misled from the truth. Know this, my noble son, the serpent that stung your father's life away is now sitting upon his throne.

Hemalt: I knew it! My uncle!

Ghost: Yes, that incestuous, adulterous beast, has used his bewitching charm and traitorous gifts to satisfy his lusts by seducing my supposedly virtuous wife. Oh Hemalt, what a fall from grace that was! She went from me, who loved her completely and faithfully, and sunk down to this wretch whose greatest achievements cannot stand in my shadow. True virtue cannot be seduced, even by vile lusts in a holy disguise. But lust, no matter what face it wears, will satisfy it's appetites even in a holy marriage bed, finding it's partners among the secretly depraved. But I digress. I can smell the morning approach. I will be quick. I was sleeping in my gardens, as I always do in the afternoons. While I was sleeping, your uncle crept up on me. He had a vial of some poison, which he poured into my ear. The stuff worked like lightening, and within instants, all the blood in my body had thickened and curdled. My skin ruptured and split, so that my smooth skin was immediately covered with a thick crust of ruined blood. And so, as I slept, I lost my brother, my reign, and my queen all at once. Murdered in the middle of my daily sins, with no chance of forgiveness, sent to stand before the Golden Throne with all my wrongs upon my head. There is nothing more horrible! If you have any human feelings within you, do not let the regal bed of Decemus be a cushion for lust and incest! But no matter what you decide, do not take any actions against your mother. Leave her for the Emperor, let her live with her own conscience. I must be quick. The stars begin to fade as the morning comes. Farewell, my son. Remember me!

_(The Ghost vanishes)_

Hemalt: By the Emperor's Host! Oh, earth! What will support this? Should I call on the warp as well? My heart must not break, and my muscles must remain strong and keep me on my feet. Remember you? Yes, you poor spirit, while some memory still remains in my confused mind. Remember you? Yes, I'll forget all trivial memories, all book learning, all vicarious learning and youthful experiences. Your command alone will remain within the data-stacks of my mind, free from all lesser matters. Yes, by the Throne! Oh, you hurtful woman! And that villain, that damned, smiling villain! My notebook! I must write it down, that someone can smile, and be a villain behind that smile. At least it's that way in Decemus. So, uncle, there you are. From now on, my slogan will be "Farewell, my son. Remember me!" I have sworn it.

_(Heraht and Marsel enter)_

Heraht: My lord? My lord?

Marsel: Lord Hemalt?

Heraht: Throne watch over him!

Hemalt: So be it.

Marsel: Hello-o-o my lord!

Hemalt: Hello-o-o boy! Here, boy, here!

Marsel: Are you all right, my lord?

Heraht: Anything happen, my lord?

Hemalt: Something astounding.

Heraht: Really? Tell us, my lord!

Hemalt: No, you'll repeat it.

Heraht: I won't, my lord. I swear on the Golden Throne!

Marsel: I won't either.

Hemalt: How do you say it, would anyone think it – but you'll keep this a secret?

Both: Yes, by the Throne.

Hemalt: There isn't a single villain living in Decemus that isn't a law-breaking criminal.

Heraht: There's no need for ghosts to rise from the grave to tell us that, my lord.

Hemalt: You're right! You've got it right. And so before anything else can happen, I think it's best if we shake hands and go our separate ways. You go do whatever you want, since every man has their own business or pleasures, such as they are. Me, I'll go and pray.

Heraht: Your words don't make any sense, my lord.

Hemalt: I'm sorry if they offend you. Really, I truly am.

Heraht: There's no offense, my lord.

Hemalt: Ah, but there is Heraht. And great offense too. As for the vision we've seen here, it is a real ghost. I can tell you that. As for your desire to know what we talked about, suppress it as best you can. And now my friends, since you are friends, scholars, and soldiers, grant me one small request.

Heraht: What is it my lord?

Hemalt: Never reveal what you have seen tonight.

Both: My lord, we won't.

Hemalt: No, you must swear to it.

Heraht: Honestly, my lord, I won't say a thing.

Marsel: Neither will I, my lord. By all that's holy.

Hemalt: Swear upon my sword.

Marsel: But we have already sworn, my lord.

Hemalt: You have. But swear upon my sword. Upon my sword!

Ghost: _(from below)_ Swear.

Hemalt: Ah, old boy. You say so too? Are you there, faithful? Now come on, you two. You heard the man down in the cellar. Agree to swear.

Heraht: Say what would you have us swear, my lord.

Hemalt: Never to speak of what you have seen. Swear upon my sword.

Ghost: _(from another spot)_ Swear!

_(Heraht and Marsel swear upon the sword)_

Hemalt: Here and everywhere? Then we'll change our position. Come over here, gentlemen, and rest your hands upon my sword blade again. Swear by my sword that you will never speak of what you have heard.

Ghost: _(from yet another spot)_ Swear by the sword!

_(Heraht and Marsel swear upon the sword again)_

Hemalt: Well said, old rat. Can you move through the hive so fast? What a skillful tunneler. Let's move once more, my friends.

Heraht: Oh, this is very strange!

Hemalt: Then welcome it like it's a stranger. There are more things, Heraht, in heaven and earth than we realize. Once more. Here, like before. Swear that you will never, by the Emperor's blood, however odd or strange I may behave, because I may well think it best to feign insanity, that if you ever see me at a time like that you will never, through any means, such as folding your arms, or shaking your head, or by uttering some cryptic phrase like "Well, we know" or "We could if we wanted" or " If we chose to say" or "There are some who could say more" or through some other ambiguous hint, give any indication that you know the truth about me. Swear this, so that grace and mercy will help you in your hour of need.

Ghost: Swear!

_(Heraht and Marsel swear again)_

Hemalt: Rest, then, troubled spirit. So, gentlemen, with all my heart I entrust me to you. And whatever a man as poor as I may do to show his love and friendship, Emperor willing, you shall have it. Let's go back together. And don't forget, keep your fingers upon your lips. Time is out of place. What bad luck it was that I was born to fix this. No. Come on, let's go inside.

_(They all leave)_


	3. Chapter 2

**Part Two – The First Bit**

_The rooms of Polon Suirac. Polon and his assistant Rendo enter._

Polon: Give him this money and these letters, Rendo.

Rendo: I will, my lord.

Polon: It would be very wise, Rendo, if you asked around about his activities before you visit him.

Rendo: I had intended to, my lord.

Polon: Good, very good. When you first get there, see if you can find out if there are any others from Decemus there. Find out who they are, how they got there, where they live, what jobs they have, who their acquaintances are, and how much they spend. Use this roundabout, vague sort of questioning and you'll get closer to the truth about my son than if you inquired about him outright. Pretend to have some distant acquaintance with him. Something along the lines of "I know his father" or "I know his friends" so you have some knowledge of him. Are you making notes of this, Rendo?

Rendo: Yes, very carefully my lord.

Polon: So you have some knowledge of him, but not well. You might say "If he's the one I mean, he's very wild; addicted to such-and-such." Just make up whatever you want, but nothing so bad it dishonors him. Be careful of that. Pick some common petty thing most people will associate with the freedoms of the young.

Rendo: Maybe gambling, my lord?

Polon: Sure. Or drinking. Maybe dueling, or brawling, or whoring. You can go that far.

Rendo: But my lord, that would dishonor him!

Polon: I don't think so, as long as you tone it down when you talk about it. You mustn't scandalize him by saying he is guilty of being a radical. Nothing like that. Just touch on his faults, like they are minor defects caused by too much freedom. The impulsiveness of a thriving mind, a wildness caused by lack of bonds, which most men must suffer with.

Rendo: But, my lord...

Polon: Why must you do this?

Rendo: Yes, my lord. I'd like to know that.

Polon: Well, here's my meaning, and I believe it's a fair scheme. You will attribute these slight defects to my son as a kind of window dressing, as it were. Now, if any man you are chatting with happens to know that the young man you're talking is guilty of these things, you can be sure he'll agree with you in whatever manner is most appropriate for his type.

Rendo: Very good, my lord.

Polon: And then, my good man, he will... he will...what was I going to say? Damn it. I was about to say something. Where did I leave off?

Rendo: At "he will agree with you like this.."

Polon: At "he will agree with you like this?" Oh yes! He will agree like this: "I know him. I saw him just the other day" or "yesterday" or some other time or other, "and there he was gambling" or "he was drinking" or "he was arguing about this or that" or "and he went into a place of business" probably a brothel, or something like that. Do you see? You use your small falsehood as bait to catch what you're after, the truth. That's how we men of intelligence use roundabout means and devious inquiries to find out the real truth, through indirect means. You'll get the truth about my son if you follow the lessons I just gave you. You know what I mean, do you not?

Rendo: I do, my lord.

Polon: Goodbye then. Fare you well.

Rendo: Thank you, my lord.

Polon: Keep your eye on him!

Rendo: I will, my lord.

Polon: And let him enjoy himself.

Rendo: Of course, my lord.

_(Rendo leaves)_

_(Ophia enters)_

Polon: Farewell! Oh, Ophia! What's the matter?

Ophia: Oh my lord father. I was so frightened!

Polon: Throne Above, by what?

Ophia: Father, as I was stitching in my room, Lord Hemalt came in and confronted me. He was all disheveled. His clothes were all unbuttoned, his hair was a mess, he was barefoot , except for one sock that was dirty and dragging half off his foot. He was as pale as his shirt, wobbling on his feet, and looked like a tortured soul coughed out of the warp in order to tell about the horrors he had seen!

Polon: Was he lusting after you?

Ophia: Father, I don't know, but I'm afraid he is.

Polon: What did he say?

Ophia: He grabbed my wrist and held it hard. Then he extended his arm, and put his other hand across his forehead. He stared at me intently, like he was intending to draw my face. He stayed like that for a long time, and then finally he gave my arm a little shake and nodded his head up and down three times like this. After he did that, he let out a sigh that was so long and pitiful, that I thought it would shatter his body and end his life. Once he did that, he let go of me, and looking over his shoulder, he managed to find his way out of my room without using his eyes, for they were always focused on me.

Polon: Come with me. I'll find the governor. This is love at it's extreme. It's nature leads to suicide as often as any other passion that has afflicted mankind. I am sorry – wait. Have you spoken harshly with him lately?

Ophia: No, father. But I did as you commanded, and returned his letters and refused to let him visit with me.

Polon: This has unhinged his mind. I'm sorry, but it seems that I misjudged him. I was afraid that he was only toying with you, and would have ruined you. Curse my suspicious nature! Throne Above, it's as characteristic of the older generations to be mistrustful, as it is for the younger ones to be naive. Come, we must find the governor. We have to report this. Keeping this secret could cause more damage than any embarrassment we may cause by talking about it. Come on.

_(They leave)_

**Part Two – The Second Bit**

_The Governor's hall. A fanfare announces the entrance of Clavus and Gwynnude. Ravenart and Guildersson are already present with other members of the court. _

Clavus: Welcome, Ravenart and Guildersson. Besides wanting to see you, we sent for you because we have need of your service. I'm sure you've heard of Hemalt's transformation. I call it that, because he's nothing like the man he used to be, physically or mentally. I do not know what has caused him to change like this, other than his father's death. Since the two of you have known him since childhood, and have grown up with him so that you know what he's like and how he lives, I would ask you to stay here in our court for awhile. See if your company can bring him back to us, and maybe, if the chance presents itself, you can find out if something we are unaware of has caused this affliction. Once that's known, we may be able to put things right.

Gwynnude: Good gentlemen, he has talked about you a great deal, and I'm sure there are no men alive with whom he has ever been closer. If you would be so good as to stay with us awhile, and help us help your old friend, your stay will be richly rewarded.

Ravenart: As the Governor and Lady of the Hive, you could order us to obey your wishes, instead of requesting that we do this.

Guildersson: But we both will obey, and offer ourselves and all of our abilities to your service, ready to be commanded.

Clavus: You have my thanks, Ravenart and good Guildersson.

Gwynnude: And mine, Guildersson and good Ravenart. I would ask you both to visit with my altered-beyond-recognition son immediately. Some one, please take these gentlemen to Hemalt.

Guildersson: Emperor grant that our presence and our interactions will please and help him.

Gwynnude: Emperor make it so.

_(Ravenart and Guildersson leave with one of the members of the court)_

_(Polon enters)_

Polon: My lord, the ambassadors you sent to Hive Noctemus have returned.

Clavus: You have always been the bearer of good news.

Polon: Have I, my lord? I assure you that my duty and my soul are dedicated to the Emperor and to my gracious governor. And I believe, unless my brain isn't as shrewd as it once was, that I have discovered the cause of Hemalt's...affliction.

Clavus: Tell me about that. I am anxious to know more.

Polon: First, see the ambassadors. My news will be like a dessert following their great feast.

Clavus: Do them the honor of seeing them in yourself.

_(Polon leaves)_

He tells me, my dear, that he has figured out the reason for your son's disorders.

Gwynnude: I have no doubt that it's the obvious reasons: his fathers death, and our too soon marriage.

Clavus: Well, we shall find out.

_(Polon enters with Voltmann and Carnalous)_

Welcome my friends. Voltmann, tell us what message you have brought from our brother, the Governor of Noctemus?

Voltmann: A most favorable response to your greetings and requests. First, he sent out orders to disband his nephew's army, which he had believed was being mobilized to fight Hive Sextemus. When he looked into the matter, he discovered it was indeed meant to be used against your lordship. Once he realized that his advanced age and illness were being used against him, he issued orders restraining Forzinbrass. To summarize, he obeys. He has been chastised by his uncle, and has sworn vows in front of his uncle and all the nobles to never again challenge your lordship. Once he had done this, the old governor was so overjoyed that he gave Forzinbrass an annuity of 300,000 credits and a commission to use the army he'd assembled against Sextemus. He also sends a request, detailed in this data-slate, requesting that your lordship grants safe passage through your lands for the expedition. The specifics are detailed within.

Clavus: I am pleased with this, and when I have the time, I'll read over this slate and consider this business. In the meantime, I thank you for your efforts. Get some rest. Tonight we'll feast together. Welcome back.

_(Voltmann and Carnalous leave)_

Polon: A most happy outcome. My Lord and Lady; to debate what rulership should be, what duty is, why day is day, and night is night, and time is time, would only waste night, day, and time. And so, since conciseness is the essence of decent expression, and longwindedness is only distracting ornamentation, I will be brief. Your noble son has gone mad. I call it madness, but to define true madness, wouldn't one have to be mad as well? But let that pass...

Gwynnude: More substance and less fluff!

Polon: Madam, I swear I'm not using fluff at all. It is true, that he's mad. That it's true is a pity. And it's a pity that it's true. Rather subtle, but I won't pursue that with an indulgence in wordplay. So, let's grant that he is mad. It remains that we must discover the cause of this effect, or rather the cause of this defect, since this effect must have a defective source. And so it remains...umm... This is what therefore remains: take note. I have a daughter, (well, until she is married, that is) who is dutiful and obedient, please make note of that, and she has given me this. Please, draw your own conclusions.

_(Reads)_

_To the celestial, and my soul's, idol, the most beautified Ophia_... That's an ill phrase, a vile word. "Beautified" is a vile word. But there's more, and so: _-this letter is sent to her excellent white bosom, etc. etc._

Gwynnude: Did she get this from Hemalt?

Polon: My lady, be patient. I will reveal everything.

_Doubt that the stars are fire,_

_ Doubt that the sun does move,_

_ Doubt truth to be a liar,_

_ But never doubt I love._

_Oh dear Ophia, I am bad at poetry. I have no skill to express my suffering in verse. But that I love you more than anyone else, much more, you must believe. Farewell! Yours forever, my dear lady, for as long as I live, Hemalt._

My daughter has shown me this, since she is an obedient girl. And in addition, she told me how he tried to court her. The chronology, the methods, and the places. She has told me all.

Clavus: And how did she respond to his love?

Polon: What do you think of me?

Clavus: You are a man of faith and honorable.

Polon: That is what I wish to be. But what might you think, when I had seen this passionate love taking flight – which is how I saw it, I must let you know, before my daughter told me- what might you think, or my dear lady here think, if I had been mute, or pretended not to notice or looked upon their relationship as if it were unimportant, what would you think? And so I put my foot down, and I told my young lady "Lord Hemalt is a prince and out of your class. This must not be." And I instructed her to lock herself away from him, take none of his messages, and accept none of his love tokens. And so she took my advice. And he, rejected, well, to make a long story short, he fell into depression. Then he couldn't eat, then he couldn't sleep, then he became weak, then flighty, and the decline spiraled into madness, where he now raves and we weep.

Clavus: Do you think this is the reason?

Gwynnude: It could very well be.

Polon: Has there ever been a time when I said "This is so" and was proven wrong?

Clavus: Not that I am aware of.

Polon_ (pointing to his head and shoulders)_: Take this from this if I am not right. Given this evidence, I'll find the truth, even if it's hidden in the center of the world.

Clavus: Is there a way to test this theory?

Polon: You know how he sometimes walks for four hours at a time out in the lobby?

Gwynnude: He does indeed.

Polon: During one of these times, I'll put my daughter in his way. You and I will watch on the security cameras from the guard room. If he doesn't love her, and hasn't gone mad because of it, then I'll resign my commission and take up spore farming instead.

Clavus: We'll give this a try.

_(Hemalt enters, reading a book)_

Gwynnude: Look how sadly the poor boy wanders, always reading.

Polon: Go away, both of you. Please hide. I'll approach him right now. If you'd be so kind...

_(Clavus, Gwynnude and the rest of the court file out)_

How are you, my Lord Hemalt?

Hemalt: Well, Emperor have mercy.

Polon: Do you know me, my lord?

Hemalt: Very well. You are a guilder.

Polon: Not I, my lord.

Hemalt: Then I wish you were such an honest man.

Polon: Honest, my lord?

Hemalt: Yes, sir. To be honest, in this world, is to be one man in ten thousand.

Polon: Well, that is true, my lord.

Hemalt _(reading)_: _"Because the sun can breed maggots in a dead dog, which is a good breeding ground..."_ Don't you have a daughter?

Polon: I have, my lord.

Hemalt: Don't let her walk in the sunlight. Conception is a blessing, but since your daughter may conceive... watch out for it, my friend!

Polon_ (aside)_: How about that! Always going on about my daughter, even though he didn't know me at first. He thought I was a guilder. He's far gone. Although in my youth, if the truth be told, I suffered very much like this because of love. I'll try to talk to him again. What are you reading, my lord?

Hemalt: Words, words, words.

Polon: What's the matter, my lord?

Hemalt: Between who?

Polon: I mean the matters that you are reading about, my lord.

Hemalt: Slanders, sir. This satirical rogue says in here that old men have gray beards, that their faces are wrinkled, that their eyes ooze a thick discharge, and that they have a lack of brains and weakened legs. I believe all this, sir, but I don't think it's decent to have it written down like this. For you, yourself, sir, you'll grow old, like me. If you could go backwards.

Polon _(aside)_: This is madness, although there is truth in it. Will you come in out of the air, sir?

Hemalt: Into my grave?

Polon: Well, that certainly is "out of the air". _(aside)_ How quick-witted his replies sometimes are! It's a skill that often comes with madness, since sanity couldn't get away with it. I'll leave him, and go and arrange a way for him and my daughter to meet. My lord, I'll take my leave of you.

Hemalt: You cannot take anything from me that I wouldn't part with more willingly. Except my life, except my life, except my life.

Polon: Farewell, my lord.

Hemalt: Oh, not these tedious old fools!

_(Ravenart and Guildersson enter)_

Polon: Are you looking for Lord Hemalt? He is over there.

Ravenart: Emperor protect you, sir.

_(Polon leaves)_

Guildersson: My honored lord.

Ravenart: My honored lord.

Hemalt: My excellent, good friends! How are you, Guildersson? And you Ravenart? Good friends, how are you?

Ravenart: Same as everyone.

Guildersson: Happy because we're not too happy. When it comes to Lady Fortune, we're not the jewel atop her crown.

Hemalt: Nor the soles of her shoes?

Ravenart: Neither, my lord.

Hemalt: So you're living around her waist, or in the middle of her favors?

Guildersson: Emperor! We're in her privates!

Hemalt: In the secret parts of Lady Fortune? Then it is true, she's quite the slut. So what's the news?

Ravenart: Nothing my lord, except the world's grown honest.

Hemalt: Then doomsday must be approaching. But your news isn't true. I'll ask you more directly. What have you done, my friends, that was so bad that Lady Fortune has sent you to this prison?

Guildersson: Prison, my lord?

Hemalt: Decemus is a prison.

Ravenart: Then the whole world is one too.

Hemalt: A large one, with many jails, cells, and dungeons. Decemus is one of the worst.

Ravenart: We don't think so, my lord.

Hemalt: Well, then it isn't one to you. Things aren't either good or bad, they are what you think they are. To me, this is a prison.

Ravenart: Well, then your imagination makes it one. It's too confining for your mind.

Hemalt: Emperor, I could be confined in a nutshell and think that I was the king of infinite space, if only I didn't have these bad dreams.

Guildersson: Dreams are imagination, and an ambitious man gets what he dreams about.

Hemalt: Dreams by themselves are only shadows.

Ravenart: True, and I think ambition is so insubstantial that it's only a shadow of shadow.

Hemalt: If that's the case, our unambitious beggars are solid, and our leaders and greatest heroes are the beggar's shadows. Shall we ask the courts, because I sure can't figure this out.

Both: We'll go with you.

Hemalt: You will not. I won't have people thinking you're my servants. For, honestly, my attendants are pretty horrible. But since we're friends, what are you doing here?

Ravenart: We came to see you, my lord. No other reason.

Hemalt: Since I'm a beggar, I'm even short of thanks. But I do thank you. Actually, my friends, my thanks aren't worth as much as a quarter credit. Were you sent for, maybe? Did you come because you wanted to? With no strings attached? Come on now, be honest with me. Enough. Enough. Speak up.

Guildersson: What should we say, my lord?

Hemalt: Anything you want. But give me a straight answer. I see. You were sent for. There's a confession hidden in your looks that you aren't able to disguise. I know the good Governor and his lady have sent for you.

Ravenart: Why should they do that, my lord?

Hemalt: That is something you should tell me. But let me ask you this: by the bond of our fellowship, by the companionship of our childhood, by the longstanding friendship we have, and by anything that may be even more precious, be truthful and tell me honestly if you were sent for or not.

Ravenart _(aside)_: What are we going to say?

Hemalt: Come on now, I'm watching you. If you are true friends, hold nothing back.

Guildersson: My lord, we were sent for.

Hemalt: And I'll tell you why. This way you won't need to reveal anything, and any oath of secrecy to the Governor and Lady won't be broken in the slightest. Lately, and I don't know why, I have lost all my joy and don't feel like I used to. Indeed, I am so out of sorts that this entire world seems like a lump of useless rock, and the sky itself, a majestic roof filled with golden fire, is nothing more than smog and toxic vapors. What a piece of work we humans are, noble in our ability to reason, with no limit on our abilities, our form and movement are admirable expressions, our actions are like an angel's, our thoughts are like a god's, the perfect animal. And yet, to me, what is the heart and soul of this dust? Man doesn't delight me. No, women don't either, although your smiles seem to imply it.

Ravenart: My lord, I thought no such thing.

Hemalt: Why did you laugh, then, when I said man doesn't delight me?

Ravenart: It occurred to me, my lord, that if you get no pleasure from man, that the performers will get a dull reception from you. We passed actors on the way here, and they are on their way to offer you their services.

Hemalt: The one that plays the King will be welcome. I will give him a proper reception. The Wandering Hero will get to use his weapons. The Lover will not lack a reason to sigh. The Angry Character will get to rant on, unchecked. The Comic will make those who laugh at nothing laugh. And the Leading Lady will speak her mind with no restraints, or the verse will sound lame. Which actors are they?

Ravenart: The ones you used to like so much. The tragedy players from up-hive.

Hemalt: Are they on tour? Having a home theater was better for their reputation and their income.

Ravenart: I think they were evicted because of the recent disturbances.

Hemalt: Is their reputation still as good as it was when I used to see them? Are they still popular?

Ravenart: No, indeed. They are not.

Hemalt: Why is that? Did they grow rusty?

Ravenart: No, they've kept up their craft. But there is, sir, a rival troupe of child actors, little screechers, who are overly melodramatic but enthusiastically received. They are very popular right now, and they make fun of the "common stages" as they call them, and many so-called men are afraid to visit them out of fear of the playwrights' poison words.

Hemalt: And these are children? Who manages them? Who funds their productions? Do they quit acting when their voices crack? If they grow into regular actors (which they are bound to do), won't they have to say that their writers ruined them by making them denounce their future profession?

Ravenart: Throne, there's been wrongs performed by both sides. The public thinks the controversy is a good thing. For awhile, no one would finance a production unless it sparked a fight between the children and the adult actors.

Hemalt: Really?

Guildersson: Oh, there's been quite an intellectual debate.

Hemalt: Do the children come out on top?

Ravenart: The certainly do, my lord. Even over the theater whose sign shows the rotating Earth.

Hemalt: That's not so strange. My uncle is now the Governor of Decemus, and those who used to make faces at him when my father was alive now pay twenty, forty, fifty, even a hundred credits for miniature paintings of him. Throne, there is something unnatural in all this, if only philosophy could discover it.

_(A chorus of bells and chimes)_

Guildersson: That must be the actors.

Hemalt: Gentlemen, welcome back to Decemus. Let us shake hands, then. Ceremony is an essential part of welcoming. Let me observe the formalities in case the reception I give the actors, which, I warn you, will appear very cordial, should seem superior to yours. You are welcome. But may uncle-father and aunt-mother are deceived.

Guildersson: How, my lord?

Hemalt: I'm only mad when the wind blows north-north-west. When it blows from the south, I know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw.

_(Polon enters)_

Polon: Greetings, good sirs.

Hemalt: Listen, Guildersson. And you too, Ravenart. One listener at each ear. That giant baby that just arrived is not yet out of his diapers.

Ravenart: Perhaps it's his second time around. They say old men often get a second childhood.

Hemalt: I predict that he will come tell me about the actors. Pay attention. Ahem. You're quite right sir. It was on Monday morning. That was when...

Polon: My lord, I have news for you.

Hemalt: My lord, _I_ have news for _you_. When Rozious was an actor in the early days of the hives...

Polon: The actors are here, my lord.

Hemalt: Buzz-buzz.

Polon: Upon my honor-

Hemalt: "Each actor came on his own ass"

Polon: They're the world's best actors. Either for tragedy, comedy, historical, pastoral, pastoral-comedy, historical-pastoral, tragic-historical, tragic-comic-historical-pastoral, the unclassifiable, and the totally comprehensive. No play is too serious or too light. For classic plays or romantic plays, they are the best.

Hemalt: "Oh Jeftah, Arbites judge, what a treasure you once had!"

Polon: What treasure did he have, my lord?

Hemalt: Why, "One fair daughter and no more/Who he did love exceedingly"

Polon _(aside)_: Still stuck on my daughter.

Hemalt: Aren't I right, old Jeftah?

Polon: Well, since you call me "Jeftah," my lord, I do have a daughter whom I love exceedingly.

Hemalt: No, that doesn't follow.

Polon: Then what does follow, my lord?

Hemalt: Why "As a lottery, Emperor knows" and then, you know "It came to pass, as it must." The first verse of that hymn will tell you the rest. But look, I've been interrupted.

_(The Actors enter)_

You are welcome, gentlemen. Welcome everyone. I'm glad to see you're well. Welcome good friends. Oh, my old friend, you've grown a beard since I saw you last! Have you come to beard me in Decemus? Oh, a young lady! My word, your ladyship has grown since I last saw you. By the height of a high heel! Throne Above, I hope your voice hasn't broken and put you out of circulation, like a shaved guilder credit. Gentlemen, you are all welcome! We'll have a go at anything that comes in sight, like Secundus sailors! Let's have a speech right now! Come on, give us a sample of your talents. Come on, a passionate speech!

1st Actor: Which speech, my lord?

Hemalt: I heard you give a speech once, but it was never performed. Well, if it was, it wasn't for more than one performance. If I remember right, the play had no popular appeal. It was for the cultured nobles, not the masses. But it was, in my opinion (and the opinion of others who know more about plays than I do) an excellent play. Well constructed, and written with as much restraint as skill. I remember someone said there were no vulgarities in the lines to give them spice, nor anything in the text that would find the author guilty of affectation. He called it an honest style, as wholesome as it was refreshing, and with more natural speech in it than cultured phrasing. One speech in it I liked above all the others. It was the story Aeneas told Dido, in particular the bit where he talks about the slaughter of Priam. If you can still remember it, begin at this line -how did it go, let me see, let me see...

_The astartes Pyramus, like a tiger from..._

No, that's not right. It begins with Pyramus...

_The astartes Pyramus, clad in black armor,_

_Black as his purpose, looked like the night_

_When he lay outstretched in his Thunderhawk,_

_Has now his fearsome black battle plate smeared_

_With colors much more sinister. Head to foot,_

_He is now colored red, horribly painted_

_With the blood of fathers, mothers, daughters and sons, _

_Baked and encrusted on the sun-drenched streets_

_That gives a tyrannical and damned light _

_To their lord's murder. Roasted in wrath and fire,_

_And so smeared over with congealed blood_

_With eyes like coals, the hellish Pyramus_

_Seeks grandfather Priam._

Go on from there.

Polon: Throne Above, my lord! Well spoken, and with good delivery and enunciation!

1st Actor: _Soon he finds him, _

_Striking feebly at his enemies. The sword of his youth_

_Too heavy for his old arms, lies where it falls_

_Refusing his orders. Unequal and unmatched,_

_Pyramus drives at Priam, in rage strikes wide;_

_But the wake and wind of his fierce sword _

_Fells the venerable father. Then the tower_

_The very fortress, seeming to feel the blow, it's crown aflame,_

_Falls to the ground. The death knell is a hideous crash_

_That deafens the ears of Pyramus. And behold! His sword, _

_Which was descending on the snow-crowned head_

_Of revered Priam, has paused in mid-air._

_And so, like a tyrant in a pictor, Pyramus stood, _

_Frozen between the will and the deed, _

_Does nothing._

_But as it often is when the fierce storms brew_

_A silence in the heavens, the clouds stood still, _

_The winds silent and the very earth _

_As calm as death. But then the dreadful thunder_

_Rends the air. Likewise, after Pyramus' pause,_

_His vengeance awoke anew_

_And never did the Cyclops' hammer fall_

_On Martian armor, made for everlasting strength,_

_With less remorse than Pyramus' bloody sword _

_Falls upon Priam._

_Out! Out! Wanton Fortune! All the Primarchs,_

_Agree collectively to take away her power!_

_Break all the spokes and the rim of her spinning wheel,_

_And throw the hub down from the Heavens_

_To the very depths of Hell._

Polon: This is too long.

Hemalt: We'll send it to the barber, it'll get a trim along with your beard. Please go on! He's only into farces or smutty stories, everything else makes him fall asleep. Keep going! The next part is about Hecuba.

1st Actor: _But who, alas, had seen the muffled queen-_

Hemalt: "The Muffled Queen?"

Polon: That's good.

1st Actor: _-run barefoot up and down, threatening the flames_

_With her blinding tears, a rag upon her head_

_Where she had used to wear a crown; and for a robe_

_Around her thin and weakened hips_

_A blanket: thrown on in the haste of fear._

_If anyone had seen this, with poison on his tongue,_

_Would have cursed Fortune for the collapse of her state._

_But if the Emperor himself had seen her then,_

_When she saw Pyramus locked in blood lust_

_Mutilating her husband's corpse with his sword, _

_Her instant howling of lament_

_(Unless mortal things do not touch His heart)_

_Would make the very stars give up their tears_

_And stir the feelings of the God-Emperor._

Polon: Look how his color has changed, and there are tears in his eyes! Please, no more!

Hemalt: It's fine. I'll have you perform the rest of this soon. Good Polon, will you see that the actors are given comfortable rooms? Do you hear me, they must be well cared for. They are the recorders of the history of our time. After death, you'd be better off with a bad epitaph than bad publicity from them while you are still alive.

Polon: My lord, I will treat them as they deserve.

Hemalt: By the Golden Throne, man, much better! Treat everybody as they deserve, and who wouldn't be flogged? Treat them honorably and with dignity, as befits your station. The less they deserve, the more praise your generosity will receive. Take them in.

Polon: Follow me, sirs.

Hemalt: Follow him, my friends. We'll hear a performance tomorrow. A word with you, old friend. Can you perform _The Murder of Gonzatto_?

1st Actor: Yes, my lord.

Hemalt: We'll have that tomorrow night. If it was necessary, you could learn a speech of some dozen or so lines that I'll write down and insert it in, couldn't you?

1st Actor: Yes, my lord.

Hemalt: Good. Follow that lord, and make sure you don't make fun of him!

_(Polon and the Actors leave)_

My good friends, I'll see you later tonight. Welcome back to Decemus.

Ravenart: My lord.

_(Ravenart and Guildersson leave)_

Hemalt: Indeed. Goodbye. Now I am alone. Oh what a heartless, deceitful bastard I am. Isn't it amazing that that actor, in a mere story, in make-believe passion, could give such expression to imaginary feelings. His face became pale, he had tears, the look of distress, the break in his voice, and his gestures enhancing his emotions. And all for nothing! For Hecuba! What does an old dead Queen care about him, or he about her, that should cause him to weep? What would he do if he had the motive and the reason for these passions that I have? He'd drown the stage with tears, rant and rave, drive guilty men insane and terrify the innocent, overwhelm the ignorant and throw the very senses of sight and hearing into confusion. And here am I, a lazy and miserable rascal, moping around like I'm stuck in a day dream, lacking inspiration for my cause, and unable to say a word, no, not even on behalf of a father who was damnably murdered. Am I a coward? Does anyone call me a villain, hit me over the head, yank out my beard and throw it in my face, tweak my nose, or accuse me of having lungs filled with lies? Anyone? Ha! Emperor's wounds, I would take it. It must be that I am cowardly and lack the guts to resist my oppression, or else I would have fattened the vultures with this wretch's entrails before now. Bloody, lusty villain! Pitiless, traitorous, lecherous, unnatural villain! What an ass I am! This is so noble, that I, the son of a dear father murdered, driven to take my revenge by heaven and hell, must seek my revenge using words like a whore, and fall to cursing like some common slut. This is ridiculous! Ugh! Help me out here, brains! I have heard that guilty people attending a play have been so affected by the realism of a performance, that it resounds in their soul and they confess to their crimes. Murder has no tongue, but it will speak out with amazing power. I'll get the actors to perform something that resemble the murder of my father before my uncle. I'll watch his expressions, and attend to him very closely. If he even twitches, I know what I must do. The ghost I saw may be a daemon, and daemons do have the power to assume pleasing forms. Yes, and out of my weakness and my sorrow, which only serve to fuel his power, he tempts me to damn me. I'll have better proof than that. This play's the thing I will use to trap the conscience of the Governor.

_(Hemalt leaves)_


	4. Chapter 3

**Part Three – The First Bit**

_The Governor's apartments in the Spire. Clavus, Gwynnude, Polon, Ophia, Ravenart and Guildersson enter._

**Clavus:** Your conversations haven't helped you figure out why he's acting so strangely? Why his calm demeanor has turned to such dangerous lunacy?

**Ravenart:** He admits that he doesn't feel right, but he will not give any reasons why.

**Guildersson:** And he's not willing to be questioned about it. He dodges the issue whenever we try to bring it up.

**Gwynnude:** Did he welcome you?

**Ravenart:** Very politely.

**Guildersson:** But it was quite forced.

**Ravenart:** He didn't ask us much, but freely answered all our questions.

**Gwynnude:** Did you notice if he was interested in any entertainments?

**Ravenart:** My lady, we just happened to run into some actors on our way here. We told him about them, and he seemed quite pleased to hear they were on their way. They have arrived, and I believe they've been commissioned to perform for him tonight.

**Polon:** That's correct. And he asked me to invite you both to see and hear the performance.

**Clavus:** With all my heart. I am very pleased to hear he's interested in something. Gentlemen, encourage him and guide him further into these pursuits.

**Ravenart:** We will, my lord.

_(Ravenart and Guildersson leave)_

**Clavus:** Gwynnude my dear, leave us as well. We have arranged for Hemalt to confront Ophia here, as if by chance. Her father and I will observe their meeting from the security station so we can watch without being seen. We will be able to fairly judge from their encounter whether or not he is suffering from love-sickness.

**Gwynnude:** I'll do as you ask. As for you Ophia, I do hope that your charms are the cause of Hemalt's madness, and also that they are able to restore him to his right mind, for both your sakes.

**Ophia:** Madam, I hope so.

_(Gwynnude leaves)_

**Polon:** Ophia, stay here. My lord, if you would, we will conceal ourselves. Ophia, read this prayer book. It will make your being alone more believable. We are often to blame for this, it's shown time and again. We often conceal wrongs with righteous appearances and goodly actions.

**Clavus (aside):** How true that is. That little speech pricks my conscience. A whore's painted face is no more ugly in it's falsehood than my deeds are when compared with my bogus speeches. It's such a heavy burden.

**Polon:** I hear him coming. Into the station, my lord!

_(Clavus and Polon exit through a secret door.)_

_(Hemalt enters)_

**Hemalt:** To live or to die? That is the question. Is it nobler to suffer through this, or take action and end it all? Death is like sleep. And if through sleep we can end the heart-ache and all the other pains that flesh is subject to, well, that's something to be desired. To die...to sleep...but sleep brings dreams. That's the catch. What dreams may come during the sleep of death, after we have passed from this mortal realm, that is the mystery. That's what makes us suffer for so long. Why else would anyone stand the torment of time, the tyrant's oppression, the proud man's scorn, the pangs of unrequited love, the delay of justice, the insolence of authority figures, and the spurn you receive for being tolerant, when they can bring themselves peace with a naked blade? Who would bear these burdens, grunting and sweating through a dreary life, if not for the dread that after death -an undiscovered country from where no traveler ever returns- there is something worse waiting for us than what we are currently suffering through? And so our intelligence makes cowards of us all. Our resolve is tainted with too much thinking. This causes ventures of the greatest importance to lose their momentum and go astray, derailed by too many questions. But I must be quiet, there's the beautiful Ophia. Sweet lady, remember my sins in your prayers.

**Ophia:** My lord, how are you these days?

**Hemalt:** I humbly thank you. I am well.

**Ophia:** My lord, I have some keepsakes of yours that I have longed to return to you. I'd be obliged if you would receive them.

**Hemalt:** They're not mine. I have never given you anything.

**Ophia:** My lord, you know very well that you did, and you delivered them with such sweet words that they were made even more precious. Their sweetness has faded, please take them back. Precious gifts prove to be poor when the one who gives them turns out to be unkind. Here, my lord.

**Hemalt:** Ha ha! Are you honest?

**Ophia:** My lord?

**Hemalt:** Are you beautiful?

**Ophia:** What are you getting at, my lord?

**Hemalt:** That if you are honest and beautiful, your honesty should allow no gossip about your beauty.

**Ophia:** Could beauty, my lord, have any better relationship than with honesty?

**Hemalt:** Of course! For the power of beauty can transform honesty from what it is into a lie before honesty will transform beauty into a similar quality. This used to be a paradox, but time has given us proof. I did love you, once.

**Ophia:** Indeed, my lord. You made me believe you did.

**Hemalt:** You shouldn't have believed me. Virtue can't change what we are, even when we desire it. I didn't love you.

**Ophia:** I was quite deceived.

**Hemalt:** Become a Battle Sister! What, do you want to give birth to even more sinners? I am reasonably honest, but I could accuse myself of such things that my mother would regret having me. I am very proud, vengeful, ambitious, and have more offenses at my beck and call that I have thoughts to put them in, or imagination to give them shape, or time to act them out. What would people like me do stuck between heaven and earth? We are all errant wretches. Don't believe any of us. Get yourself to a convent! Where's your father?

**Ophia:** At home, my lord.

**Hemalt:** Lock him in, so that he will not act like a fool anywhere but at home. Goodbye.

**Ophia:** Emperor protect you!

**Hemalt:** If you do marry, I'll give you this unpleasant fact as your present: even if you are as chaste as ice, as pure as snow, you won't avoid a scandal. Go to a convent. Farewell. And if you must marry, marry a fool. Intelligent men know well enough that you make fools of them. Get to a convent, and be quick about it. Farewell.

**Ophia:** Emperor make him well again!

**Hemalt:** I know all about why you wear make-up. The Emperor has given you one face, but you make another one for yourself. You wiggle and traipse, you use false voices and give nicknames to everything, pretending to be innocent and ignorant of sins. Enough, I'll have no more of it! It has driven me mad! I say we shall have no more marriages! Those that are already married, all but one, will be allowed to continue on. Everyone else will stay the way they are. Get to a convent!

_(Hemalt leaves)_

**Ophia:** Such a noble mind has been lost! His good looks, his soldier's skill, his intelligent speech; all his promise as a future ruler; his sense of fashion and his physical form, the most noble among the noblest, all has been ruined! And I, the most dejected and wretched of women, who was the object of his affections, I can see the depths of his ruin! His nobility and intelligence so far out of tune, like sweet bells ringing in discord. His unmatched physical perfection blasted by insanity. Oh misery! To have seen what I have seen replaced by what I see now.

_(Clavus and Polon enter)_

**Clavus:** Love? His actions don't support that. Nor does anything he said indicate madness, although it was a little incoherent. There's something in his very soul on which he's brooding. I fear it will be dangerous if it ever comes out. That must be prevented. I have just decided. We must send him at once to Primus to collect what they owe us. With luck, the long journey, with a change of scenery and new experiences, will drive this something from out of his heart, for his brains are dwelling upon it and it is causing him to act so strangely. What do you think?

**Polon:** A good idea. But I still believe that his grief is caused by unrequited love. All right, Ophia. You do not need to tell us what Lord Hemalt said. We heard it all. My lord, do as you wish. But, if you approve, after the performance ends, let his mother attempt to persuade him in private to reveal the cause of his grief. Let her be covert with her questions, and I will, if you please, be hidden so that I can hear all that they say. If she cannot find out the truth, then send him to Primus...or confine him someplace...which ever you think is best.

**Clavus:** It shall be so. Madness in the great must not be ignored.

_(They all leave)_

**Part Three – The Second Bit**

**Hemalt:** Repeat the speech like I recited it to you, but more naturally. If you overact like many performers do, I'd rather get the herald to yell my lines. Don't saw the air too much with your hands, like this. Do everything with restraint. As your passion builds up to a whirlwind, you must exercise self-control to make it appear natural. It offends my soul to see some hack actor in a wig tear a passionate scene to shreds, to ribbons, just to pander to the general audience, who are, for the most part, incapable of understanding anything but slap-stick and spectacle. I would have such an actor whipped for over-acting the villain. It out-Horus' Horus. Make sure you avoid that.

**1st Actor:** Of course, my lord.

**Hemalt:** Don't be too tame either. Use your discretion. Suit your actions to your words, your words to your actions, and make sure you don't over-act. Over-acting is against the purpose of the performance, which was (and still is) to mirror reality. To demonstrate what's virtuous, to expose what's scornful, and to depict honestly what is happening. Over-acting, or under-acting, may make the unwashed masses laugh, but it will make the wise groan, and you must admit their opinion is worth more than a theater full of the others. I've seen some actors, which others have highly praised, who cannot speak or move like an ordinary man, mutant, or whatever they are playing. They strut about and bellow so much that I believe men must be the product of shoddy workmanship, since they are so horribly represented.

**1st Actor:** I hope that we have managed to avoid such things, my lord.

**Hemalt:** Avoid it altogether. Make sure your comedians stick to their lines. There are some who will laugh at their own jokes, to get quiet members of the audience to laugh too. But this often delays necessary parts of the plot. That's unforgivable, and shows a selfish ambition in the fool that uses it. Go get ready.

_(The actors leave)_

_(Polon, Ravenart, and Guildersson enter)_

Well now, my lord, will the Governor watch this play?

**Polon:** And his lady as well. They would like to see it right away.

**Hemalt:** Tell the actors to hurry.

_(Polon leaves)_

Will you two help them to hurry as well?

**Ravenart:** Yes, my lord.

_(Ravenart and Guildersson leave)_

**Hemalt:** Heraht!

_(Heraht enters)_

**Heraht:** Here, my lord. At your service.

**Hemalt:** Heraht, you're as true a man as anyone I've ever talked to.

**Heraht:** Well, thank you, my lord.

**Hemalt:** No, don't think I'm trying to flatter you. What advantages could I hope to get from you, whose only assets are his good spirits? Why would anyone flatter the poor? No, let flatters save their sweet words for the vanity of the great, let them bow their eager knees where there's some advantage to be gained from fawning. Listen, ever since I could tell one man's qualities from another's, I've picked you out for my friend. You're the type that suffers everything, but suffers from nothing. Fortune has looked on you with good and bad luck, and blessed are those whose temper and judgment are so well-balanced that they are not a slave to Fortune and her whims. Show me a man who is not a slave to passion, and I will keep him in my heart's core, my heart-of-hearts, like I do you. But that's enough of that. There's a play being performed tonight for the Governor. One scene in it resembles the circumstances of my father's death, which we have discussed. When you see that part performed, watch my uncle very closely. If his hidden guilt doesn't surface during that particular speech, then it's a cursed ghost that we have seen, and my suspicions are as foul as the foundries on Mars. Watch him carefully. My eyes will be riveted to his face, and we will compare notes later about his actions.

**Heraht:** Yes, my lord. If he manages to take anything while the play is being performed, and escapes my notice, I will pay for what he takes.

**Hemalt:** They are coming to see the play. I must act casual. Find yourself a place.

_(Clavus, Gwynnude, Polon, Ophia, Ravenart, Guildersson and other Nobles enter, with some of the Governor's guard.)_

**Clavus:** How is our nephew, Hemalt?

**Hemalt:** Excellent, actually. I eat like spore bats, air filled with promises. You can't feed swinerats like that.

**Clavus:** I don't understand this answer, Hemalt. These words don't relate to me.

**Hemalt:** Or to me anymore. Polon, you once acted at university, correct?

**Polon:** I certainly did, my lord. I was considered a good actor.

**Hemalt:** What did you perform?

**Polon:** I was Julian Sleezer. I was killed in the Capitol. Brutal killed me.

**Hemalt:** It was brutal of him to kill such a capitol calf there. Are the performers ready?

**Ravenart:** Yes, my lord. They are ready when you are.

**Gwynnude:** Come here, my dear Hemalt. Sit by me.

**Hemalt:** No, good mother. I'm drawn to something more attractive.

_(He goes to Ophia)_

**Polon **_(to Clavus)_**:** Oh ho! Did you catch that?

**Hemalt **_(lying down at Ophia's feet)_**:** Lady, shall I lay in your lap instead?

**Ophia:** No, my lord.

**Hemalt:** I meant, with my head upon your lap.

**Ophia:** Yes, my lord.

**Hemalt:** Did you think I meant something naughty?

**Ophia:** I thought nothing, my lord.

**Hemalt:** That's a nice thought lying between a maiden's legs.

**Ophia:** What is, my lord?

**Hemalt:** Nothing.

**Ophia:** You are funny, my lord.

**Hemalt:** Who, me?

**Ophia:** Yes, my lord.

**Hemalt:** Emperor, you're a comedy writer! What else should a man be, but funny? Look how cheerful my mother is, and my father has only been dead a couple hours.

**Ophia:** No, it's been four months, my lord.

**Hemalt:** That long? If so, the devils can wear black, and I'll pick up some expensive mourning clothes. Imagine! Dead only two months ago, and not yet forgotten. So there's some hope that a great man might be remembered six months after he dies. By the throne, he must build himself some shrines then, or he will be forgotten, like the child's hobby-horse in the old song: "_For O, For O, the hobby-horse is forgotten."_

_(A trumpet sounds. The Actors enter, and perform a silent play)_

_A king and queen enter, very much in love, and embrace each other. The queen kneels and makes a show of bowing to him. He helps her up, and lays his head upon her shoulder. Then he lies down on a bank of flowers. When she sees he is asleep, she leaves him. A man enters. He removes the king's crown, pours a poison in his ear, and leaves. The queen returns and finds the king dead, and makes a great show of grief. The poisoner reenters with three or four followers, and they pretend to share in the queen's grief. The followers carry the king's body away. The poisoner woos the queen with gifts. She resists at first, but in the end she accepts his love. They leave._

**Ophia:** What does this mean, my lord?

**Hemalt:** Obviously, this is a dirty work. It means mischief.

**Ophia:** No doubt this scene depicts the plot of the play.

_(The Prologue enters)_

**Hemalt:** This fellow will tell us. Performers cannot keep secrets, they reveal everything.

**Ophia:** Will he explain the meaning of the silent show?

**Hemalt:** Yes, or anything else you want to show him. If you aren't ashamed to show him, he won't be too embarrassed to explain what it's for.

**Ophia:** You are so naughty! Very naughty! The play is starting.

**Prologue:** _For us, and our tragedy_

_We bow in hope of leniency_

_And beg you'll listen to us patiently._

_(The Prologue leaves)_

**Hemalt:** Is this a prologue, or an inscription on a ring?

**Ophia:** It was brief, my lord.

**Hemalt:** Like the love of a woman...

_(The Player King and Queen enter)_

**Player King:** _A full thirty times the sun has circled 'round_

_The ocean's waves and the earthen ground,_

_And thirty dozen moons with borrowed lights_

_Have shone out twelve times thirty nights_

_Since our loving hearts and hands_

_Have been joined with matrimonial bands._

**Player Queen:** _And so many more journeys may the sun and moon_

_Make for us again before our love is done._

_But woe is me, you are so sick of late_

_So far from cheer and your former state_

_That I am afraid. But though I am distressed,_

_Nothing should spoil your happiness._

_In women love and fear go side-by-side_

_Too much of one, or one's denied._

_How much I love you, I have shown you_

_And as my love is, my fear is too._

_Where love is great, small doubts turn to fear_

_Where fear grows great, great love grows there._

**Player King:** _ Throne, I must leave you, love, and shortly too_

_My faculties don't function as they should do._

_And in this fair world you'll be left behind_

_Honored and beloved; with luck, you may find_

_A husband whom you'll..._

**Player Queen:** _Don't say the rest!_

_A love like that is treason in my breast._

_If I should remarry, I would be accursed._

_None marry twice except those who killed the first._

**Hemalt **_(aside)_**:** There's a bitter phrase.

**Player Queen:** _The reasons that second marriages move_

_Are based on vice, not on love._

_A second time I'd kill my husband dead, _

_When my second husband first kisses me in bed._

**Player King:** _I do think you believe what now you speak,_

_But what we pledge, we often break._

_Good intentions need strong resolve,_

_Or though sincere at first, they soon dissolve._

_Like unripe fruit, stuck up on the tree_

_Until they mellow. Then they fall free._

_It is most necessary that we forget_

_To pay ourselves what we owe ourselves as debt._

_What in the heat of passion we propose,_

_When the passion ends, the purpose we do lose._

_The violence of either grief or joy_

_When enacted they themselves destroy._

_Where joy is great, grief laments,_

_Grief joys, joy griefs, a chance accident._

_This world is not eternal, nor is it strange_

_That even love will with our fortunes change._

_It is a question left to us to prove_

_Does love lead to fortune or fortune lead to love?_

_Great men falling down have friends that fly,_

_Poor men on the rise make friends with their enemy_

_And so it seems that love on fortune depends:_

_A man with no needs will never lack friends, _

_And those who want, when their friends they try_

_Will find they've turned into an enemy._

_But I must neatly end what I began_

_Our desires and fates do not share the same plan, _

_So our wants and plots are overthrown;_

_Our thoughts are ours, their ends are not our own._

_So you think you will not a second time be wed,_

_Those thoughts will die when the first husband is dead._

**Player Queen:** _May the world deny me food, and the heaven light,_

_Keep joy and rest from me all day and night,_

_To desperation turn my trust and faith,_

_A prisoner's cheer be all that lights my face._

_Give me the opposite, blank out my joy,_

_Find what I desire, and then it destroy._

_Now and after, punish me with lasting strife_

_If once a widow, I should ever become a wife._

**Hemalt:** Beware breaking such a promise.

**Player King:** _A solemn vow. Sweet, leave me for now_

_I've grown tired, and it would serve me best_

_For now to get a little rest._

**Player Queen:** _Sleep come to you,_

_And may misfortune never come between us two._

_(She leaves. The Player King goes to sleep.)_

**Hemalt:** Madam, how do you like this play?

**Gwynnude:** I think the lady protests too much.

**Hemalt:** Oh, but she'll keep her word.

**Clavus:** Do you know the plot? Is it offensive?

**Hemalt:** No, no. They're only joking, poison in jest. No offense in the world.

**Clavus:** What is this play called?

**Hemalt:** The Mousetrap – now there's a catchy metaphor! This play is based on a real murder that happened in Hive Tertious. Gonzago was the Noble's name. His wife was called Batista. You'll see. It's a provocative play, but who cares? My lord, and those of us with clear consciences, are not touched by it. Let the guilty wince, the rest of us are unaffected.

_(Lucanus enters)_

This is a character called Lucanus, who is the king's nephew.

**Ophia:** You are as good as a program, my lord.

**Hemalt:** I could do a running commentary on you and your lover, if I could see you both performing.

**Ophia:** You are sharp, my lord. Very sharp.

**Hemalt:** You would have to groan with effort to rub off my edge.

**Ophia:** Even better! But getting worse!

**Hemalt:** And that's how you snare your husbands. Begin, murderer. Stop making your "evil faces" and get on with it. Come on now, "_the croaking raven bellows for revenge_."

**Lucanus:** _Black thoughts, able hands, here the poison, the time is right,_

_All is perfect, no creatures present to see the sight._

_This foul brew, of midnight weeds collected_

_With a wytch's curse thrice blasted, thrice infected,_

_Your natural magic and dire property_

_Counters strongest life and kills immediately._

_(He pours the poison in the sleeping king's ear)_

**Hemalt:** He poisons him in his own garden for his inheritance. His name is Gonzago. The play is new and popular, written very stylishly. You will soon see how the murderer wins the love of Gonzago's wife.

**Ophia:** The Governor has stood up.

**Hemalt:** What, is he afraid of special effects?

**Gwynnude:** How are you, my lord?

**Polon:** Stop the play!

**Clavus:** Turn on the lights. I'm leaving.

**Polon:** The lights! The lights! More light!

_(Everyone leaves except Hemalt and Heraht)_

**Hemalt:** _Why, let the injured prey weep,_

_The uninjured prey will play,_

_For some must watch, while others sleep_

_For this is the world's own way._

If I suffer misfortune, wouldn't that get me in with a company of actors, sir? With a forest of quills and flowers on my fancy shoes?

**Heraht:** Maybe half a share.

**Hemalt:** A whole share for me!

_'Cos you must know, poor hiver lad_

_That this spire has_

_Lost it's king, most truly sad_

_It's ruler now -a peacock!_

**Heraht:** You should have made that rhyme.

**Hemalt:** Oh, Heraht. I'll back the truth of the ghost's words with a thousand creds. Did you notice?

**Heraht:** I couldn't miss it.

**Hemalt:** When they talked of poison?

**Heraht:** I was watching him very closely.

**Hemalt:** Ah ha! Come on, some music! Come, we'll find some musicians!

_For if the king dislikes the comic plot,_

_Well then, my lords, it seems he likes it not!_

Come on, some music!

_(Ravenart and Guildersson enter)_

**Guildersson:** My lord, let me have a word with you.

**Hemalt:** Sir, you can have a whole history!

**Guildersson:** The Governor, sir..

**Hemalt:** Yes sir. What about him?

**Guildersson:** He's returned to his room, extremely upset.

**Hemalt:** Too much to drink?

**Guildersson:** No, my lord. He's furious.

**Hemalt:** You would be better off telling this to a medicae. If you want me to try to help him, he'd only end up even angrier.

**Guildersson:** My lord, please. Don't go off on a tangent.

**Hemalt:** All right, I've pulled myself together. Go on.

**Guildersson:** Your mother, who is very upset, has sent me to you.

**Hemalt:** Well then, you're welcome.

**Guildersson:** No, my lord. This politeness is not what I'm looking for. If you'd be so kind as to give me a rational answer, I'll carry out your mother's instructions. If not, give me your permission and I'll return to her and my business will be done.

**Hemalt:** Sir, I cannot.

**Ravenart:** Cannot what, my lord?

**Hemalt:** Give you a rational answer. My brain is addled. But, sir, you can have what answer I can give you, or, as you say, my mother can have it. But that's enough of that, and on to business. You said my mother...

**Ravenart:** She says this: your behavior has amazed and astonished her.

**Hemalt:** What a wonderful son I must be, to astonish her so. But is there nothing more to my mother's astonishment? Tell me everything.

**Ravenart:** She wants to speak to you in her rooms before you go to bed.

**Hemalt:** We shall obey, even if she was our mother ten times. Do you have any other business with me?

**Ravenart:** My lord, you used to like me.

**Hemalt:** I still do, I swear by these thieving hands.

**Ravenart:** My lord, why are you so troubled? You close the door on your recovery by not confiding in your friends.

**Hemalt:** Sir, my desires are denied.

**Ravenart:** How can that be, when you have been named heir to the rule of Hive Decemus by the Governor himself?

**Hemalt:** True, sir. But to quote a musty old proverb, "the grass is always greener".

_(The Actors return, carrying musical instruments)_

Ah, the music. Let me borrow that one. To get back to you, why are you sniffing around, like you're trying to trap me?

**Guildersson:** My lord, if we're being too forward, it's our love for you that's at fault.

**Hemalt:** I don't follow you. Here,will you play something?

**Guildersson:** My lord, I can't.

**Hemalt:** Please?

**Guildersson:** Believe me, I can't.

**Hemalt:** I'm begging you...

**Guildersson:** I don't know how to use it.

**Hemalt:** It's as easy as lying. Cover these wholes with your fingers, and that one with your thumb. Blow with your mouth, and it will create beautiful music. See, these are the stops.

**Guildersson:** I cannot use it properly. I don't have the skill.

**Hemalt:** Why, now look at how you put me down. You want to play me, to understand my stops, you would pluck at the heart of my secrets, and know my sounds from the lowest note to the highest. And there is a lot of music, excellent sounds, in this little pipe, but you can't make it play. So, do you think I am easier to play than this instrument? Call me any instrument you want, though you fret me, you cannot play me.

**(Polon enters)**

Emperor watch over you, sir.

**Polon:** My lord, your lady mother wishes to speak with you right away.

**Hemalt:** Do you see that shadow over there, that's shaped like a desert horse?

**Polon:** By the throne, so it is. It's indeed like a dromedary.

**Hemalt:** I think it looks like a lizard.

**Polon:** It has a back like a lizard.

**Hemalt:** Or like a dustbat.

**Polon:** Very much like a dustbat.

**Hemalt:** Then I will visit my mother by and by. _(Aside)_ They play along with anything I come up with. I will go by and by.

**Polon:** I'll let her know.

_(Polon leaves)_

**Hemalt:** By and by is easy to say. Leave me, my friends.

_(Everyone leaves but Hemalt)_

It's the dead of night, the Wytch's Hours, when tombs open and the Void breaths foul airs into the world. At such a time, I could drink hot blood and do such deeds that the daylight would shudder to see them. Right. To my mother. My heart must not lose it's natural feelings. I would not be the killer of my own mother. I must be ruthless, but not obscene. My mouth will speak daggers, but my hands won't touch one. My tongue and my soul must be hypocrites. No matter what words I speak, my soul would never consent to putting them into action.

_(He leaves)_

**Part Three – The Third Bit**

_(Clavus, Ravenart, and Guildersson enter.)_

**Clavus:** I didn't like his expression. It's not safe for us to give him his liberty while he's crazed. So get yourselves ready. I'll issue your commissions at once, and he must go to Hive Primus with you. As Governor, I cannot tolerate the implications of his threatening looks any longer.

**Guildersson:** We'll get ready. It's a sacred duty to be cautious on behalf of the countless hivers who depend on you for their livelihood.

**Ravenart:** An individual will do all they can to protect themselves against aggression. A ruler must do even more because so many others depend upon them. The death of a governor is not his alone. It's like a vortex, sucking in whatever else is nearby. Or like a giant wheel on the top of a spire, with many lesser things attached to it. When it rolls down, everything attached, even the tiniest, most minor part, is involved in the destruction at the end. Those at the top never sigh alone. When they do, so does everyone.

**Clavus:** Get ready for this hasty departure. We'll restrain this fear that now roams about freely.

**Ravenart:** We'll hurry.

_(Ravenart and Guildersson leave)_

_(Polon enters)_

**Polon:** My lord, he's going to his mother's room. I'll hide in the curtains to hear what goes on. I'm certain she'll get to the bottom of this. And, as you so wisely said, it will be better if someone besides his mother, who is naturally biased, should also hear what's discussed. Farewell, my lord. I'll call on you before you go to sleep and tell you what I've learned.

**Clavus:** Thank you, my noble friend.

_(Polon leaves)_

Oh, my crime is an abomination! It stinks to the very Golden Throne. It has Horus' Curse upon it: a brother's murder. My guilt overpowers my intentions. Like a man with two choices, I stand transfixed, not knowing which to do first, and so I ignore both of them. What if this cursed hand of mine were twice as thick, thanks to my brother's blood? Is there enough rain in the heavens to wash it clean? What else is mercy for, if not to confront sin? And what power is in prayer if it isn't this: to stop us from doing wrong, or to pardon us if we should fall? Then I'll look forward. My sins are in the past. But what kind of prayer fits this situation? "Forgive me for my foul murder?" That can't be right, since I still have the possessions I gained from the murder; the governor's seat, my personal ambitions, my lovely wife. Can you be pardoned and still keep the spoils? In the courts of the Adeptus Terra, the wealthy can push justice to the side. Often they use their ill-gotten prizes to bribe the law. But it's not done that way before the Throne. There's no shady deals there. The truth is the truth, and we are compelled to reveal evidence about all our transgressions in the smallest detail. What then? What else is there? Try to repent. What can that do? How can repentance help when you can't repent? What a situation! Oh, my heart is black as death! My soul is trapped, and the more it struggles to be free the more it is entangled. Help me, angels! Do what you can! Bow, stubborn knees! And my heart with strings of steel, be soft as that of a new born baby. All may still be well. _(He kneels)_

_(Hemalt enters)_

**Hemalt:** I could do it easily, while he's busy praying. And so I will. _(Draws his sword)_ But then he would be pardoned at the Throne. So much for my revenge. This needs further thought. A villain kills my father, and because of that I, his only son, will send the villain to Heaven? Why, this would be a helping hand, and not revenge! He killed my father in his sleep, with no chance to repent his crimes or ask forgiveness. How he fares before the Throne, no one knows but the Emperor himself. In the way the world looks at things, it looks bad for him. And so am I revenged if I kill him while he is purging himself of his sins? When he's prepared to stand judgment before the Throne? No. I'll sheath my sword until a more damning situation presents itself. When he's in a drunken sleep, when he's enraged, when he's in bed indulging in his incestuous desires, when he blasphemes during a game, or is involved in some other situation that the Emperor despises. Then I'd take him, and his soul would be damned and black as the Void, where he'd be sure to go, head first. My mother is waiting for me. Your praying merely extends your wretched life.

_(He leaves)_

**Clavus:** My words rise up, but my thoughts remain below. Words without sincerity will never reach the Golden Throne.

_(He leaves)_

**Part Three – The Fourth Bit**

_(Gwynnude's chambers. Gwynnude and Polon enter)_

**Polon:** He's on his way. Make sure you don't mince words. Tell him his actions have been too outrageous to be tolerated, and that you have protected him from a lot of criticism. I'll hide quietly behind here. Be direct.

**Gwynnude:** Trust me and have no fear. Hide, I can here him coming.

_(Polon hides behind a curtain)_

_(Hemalt enters)_

**Hemalt:** I'm here mother, what's the matter?

**Gwynnude:** Hemalt, you have deeply offended your father.

**Hemalt:** Mother, you have deeply offended my father.

**Gwynnude:** Come, come. You give me a foolish answer.

**Hemalt:** Go, go. You give me a wicked question.

**Gwynnude:** Now, really Hemalt...

**Hemalt:** What's the matter now?

**Gwynnude:** Have you forgotten who I am?

**Hemalt:** No, by the Throne, not at all. You are the Governor's Lady, your husband's brother's wife. And, although I wish otherwise, you are my mother.

**Gwynnude:** No, then I'll send for those that can make you speak.

**Hemalt:** Now now, you sit down. You will not budge. You won't leave until I have set up a mirror where you can see your innermost parts.

**Gwynnude:** What are you going to do? Do you really intend to murder me? Help! Help!

**Polon:** Help! Help I say!

**Hemalt:** What's this? A rat! I'll kill it for a penny! Dead!

_(He thrusts his sword through the curtains)_

**Polon:** Oh! He's killed me!

**Gwynnude:** Emperor's blood! What have you done?

**Hemalt:** I don't know. What, is it the governor?

_(He lifts up the curtain and discovers Polon, lying dead)_

**Gwynnude:** Oh, what a rash and bloody deed this is!

**Hemalt:** A bloody deed. Almost as bad, good mother, as killing a governor and then marrying his brother?

**Gwynnude:** Kill a governor?

**Hemalt:** Yes, mother. That's what I said. You stupid, rash, intruding fool...farewell. I thought you were the governor. That's your bad luck. You've learned that being too curious is dangerous. Mother, stop wringing your hands. Please, sit back down, and let me squeeze your heart. And I surely will, if it's not invulnerable and so thoroughly corrupted from habitual wickedness that it's beyond all appeal to reason.

**Gwynnude:** What have I done that makes you dare speak to me like this?

**Hemalt:** Such things that put innocence to shame, calls virtue a hypocrite, plucks the flower from love and leaves an oozing sore, and makes marriage vows as true as gamblers' oaths. Such a deed that destroys all solemn pledges and turns faith to meaningless babbling. The Emperor himself scowls at the world, planning it's doom, sickened by what you've done.

**Gwynnude:** What could I have done that is so terrible and outrageous?

**Hemalt:** Look at this picture in my necklace, and this one in yours! The portraits of two brothers. Look at the presence evident in these features, hair like Sanguinius, the forehead of Ferrus Manus, eyes like Rogal Dorn, a bearing like Roboute Guilliman. A combination stamped in the likeness of the Primarchs themselves, to give this world a model man. This was your husband. Now look at this. This is your husband, like a cancerous growth, infecting his healthy brother. Are you blind? Could you stop feasting on this bounty of nature in order to glut yourself on this wasteland? Well, are you blind? You cannot call it love. At your age, desire wanes. It's under control, and uses it's judgment. What sort of judgment would go from this to this? You must have some of your senses, otherwise you wouldn't be able to get around. But surely your faculties must be paralyzed. Madness wouldn't be this stupid, and fantasy cannot so completely overwhelm reason that it cannot retain some wisdom to make choices at times of moral dilemma. Which Ruinous Power tricked you like this at blind man's bluff? Do you have sight without touch, or touch without sight, or hearing without touch and sight, or just smell alone? Why, even a weak flicker of one sound faculty would have made you aware of what you were doing! Where are your ashamed blushes? If mothers have no control, what chance does morality have with the hot-blooded young? Don't punish passionate youth when frosty age burns just as much and reason gives way to lust.

**Gwynnude:** Oh Hemalt, say no more! You have made me look inside my soul, and I see nothing but black stains that will not come out.

**Hemalt:** Of course! Living in the rank sweat of an unholy bed, wallowing in corruption, kissing and making love in that disgusting filth!

**Gwynnude:** Don't say anything else! Your words are like daggers in my ears! No more, sweet Hemalt.

**Hemalt:** A murderer and a traitor; a scum that isn't worth one twentieth of a tenth of your late husband; a louse among lords, a thief of empire that stole the precious scepter from it's shelf and put it in his pocket...

**Gwynnude:** No more!

**Hemalt:** A lord of shreds and tatters..

_(The Ghost enters)_

Save me and protect me with your wings, Emperor's angels! What does your lordship want?

**Gwynnude:** No, he's gone mad!

**Hemalt:** Have you come to scold your tardy son, who let time and passion slip away while carrying out your dread commands? Tell me.

**Ghost:** Do not forget. This visit is only to sharpen your almost blunted purpose. Look, your mother sits bewildered. Come between her and her inner struggle. Imagination works strongest with the weak. Speak to her, Hemalt.

**Hemalt:** How are you, lady?

**Gwynnude:** No, how are you? Why do you stare at nothing and speak to thin air? Madness dances in your eyes. Your hair stands on end, like soldiers awakened by some sudden crisis. My gentle son, cool your raging thoughts with patience. What are you looking at?

**Hemalt:** At him! At him! Look at his ashen stare. If his form and thought were combined, stones would listen to him and do his bidding. Don't look at me like that, or your pity may weaken my resolve. Then what I have to do will be turned from revenge into sympathy.

**Gwynnude:** Who are you talking to?

**Hemalt:** Don't you see anything there?

**Gwynnude:** Nothing at all. I can see only what is there to see.

**Hemalt:** And you hear nothing?

**Gwynnude:** Nothing but us.

**Hemalt:** Look over here! Look at how he slips away. My father, dressed like when he was alive! Look, he's going out through the door!

_(The Ghost leaves)_

**Gwynnude:** It is a figment of your imagination. Madness often creates hallucinations.

**Hemalt:** Madness? My pulse is as steady and healthy as yours. I am not talking from madness. Put me to the test, and I'll say it verbatim. Madness would make me change my words. Mother, for the love of the Throne, do not soothe your conscience by believing it's my madness and not your guilt that is speaking. That will only cover the wound with a false skin, and out of sight it will fester with corruption. Confess before the Throne, repent what has happened and avoid what is coming. Do not make things worse than they already are. Forgive this presumption. In times like these, virtue must beg the pardon of vice, and ask it's permission before trying to help.

**Gwynnude:** Oh Hemalt, you have cut my heart in two!

**Hemalt:** Then toss out the ruined half, and live a purer life with the half that's left. Good night. But do not go to my uncle's bed. Practice virtues, even if you don't have any. Custom is a monster that makes sense of bad habits, but it has this one virtue: it also turns the practice of good deeds into good habits that come naturally. Stay away from him tonight, and that will make the next abstinence a little easier, and the one after that even easier. Repetition can change your nature, and curb your daemons or throw them out. Once again, good night. When you are looking to be blessed, I'll beg a blessing from you. As for this lord here, I am sorry. The Emperor has made it so that I am punished with this, and this is punished with me. I must be the Emperor's instrument. I will dispose of the body, and will answer for his death. So again, good night. I must be cruel to be kind. This is a bad beginning, and worse is coming. One last word, my lady.

**Gwynnude:** What should I do?

**Hemalt:** Do not, no matter what happens, do any of these things: don't let that bloated lord tempt you into his bed again; don't let him caress your cheeks; call you his pet names; don't let him, with repulsive kisses or fondling with his cursed fingers, make you explain everything, revealing that I am not really mad, but just pretending. It would be expected of you to let him know. Would anyone but a lady, beautiful, dignified, and wise, keep such important personal matters from a bat, a rat, or a stray? Who would do such a thing? No, in spite of sense and secrecy, open the bird cage, spill the beans, gossip like the nobles, go ahead and wring your own neck.

**Gwynnude:** Rest assured, if words are made out of breath, and breath is life, I have no life in me to breath a word of what you have said.

**Hemalt:** I have to go to Primus. Did you know that?

**Gwynnude:** Oh, I had forgotten. It was decided beforehand.

**Hemalt:** The letters of authority have been written, and my two old school friends, whom I trust like I would trust snakes, are the bearers of the mandate. They must escort me away, and lead me into some soft of misfortune. So be it. It's humorous to see the engineer hoisted with their own crane, and see if I don't beat them at their own game. Oh, it's such fun when two schemes collide. I must get to work on this man. I'll lug the guts into the next room. Mother, a final good night. This counselor is very still, very secret, and very grave, even though in life he was a prattling fool. Come, sir. It's time to finish my business with you. Good night, mother.

_(Hemalt drags Polon away. Gwynnude remains behind.)_


	5. Chapter 4

**Part Four – The First Bit**

_(Clavus joins Gwynnude in her room. Ravenart and Guildersson accompany him.)_

**Clavus:** There's something behind these sighs and your uncontrollable shaking. What is it? You need to tell me. Where's your son?

**Gwynnude:** Leave us alone for a while.

_(Ravenart and Guildersson leave)_

Oh, my husband! The things I've seen tonight!

**Clavus:** My poor Gwynnude. How is Hemalt?

**Gwynnude:** As mad as the ash and the winds when they fight to see who is stronger. In his delusion, he heard something move behind the curtain, and whipped out his sword, crying "A rat! A rat!" In this frenzied state, he killed Polon, who was hiding there.

**Clavus:** This is terrible! That would have been me, if I had hidden there. His freedom threatens us all; you, me, everyone. How shall we explain this tragedy? They'll blame me. I should have had the foresight to keep the young madman on a shorter leash, under restraint and away from others. I loved him so much that I refused to accept what was needed. Like someone with a foul disease that they try to keep secret, it's been allowed to feed upon itself and grow stronger. Where has he gone?

**Gwynnude:** To take care of the corpse. His madness, like gold in a pile of scrap metals, shines out pure with this deed. He weeps for what he has done.

**Clavus:** Oh Gwynnude, come here. At dusk, we'll secret him off to Primus. It'll take all my authority and skill, but I must excuse him from this vile deed. Guildersson, come here!

_(Ravenart and Guildersson enter)_

Friends, get some others to help you. In his madness, Hemalt has killed Polon Suiarc and dragged him away from his mother's room. Find him, speak gently, and take the body to the shrines. Do this quickly.

_(Ravenart and Guildersson leave)_

Come, Gwynnude. We'll get in touch with our wisest friends, and let them know what we intend to do and what has unfortunately happened. Hopefully slander, whose whispers travel around the world as quickly as a cannon's blast to it's target, will miss our name and hit the empty air. Let's go, my heart is filled with discord and dismay.

_(They leave)_

**Part Four – The Second Bit**

_(Hemalt enters)_

**Hemalt:** That is taken care of. What's that? Is someone calling my name? Oh, here they come.

_(Ravenart and Guildersson enter)_

**Ravenart:** My lord, where is the dead body?

**Hemalt:** Mixed with dust, since they are related.

**Ravenart:** Tell us where it is, so we can retrieve it and bring it to the shrines.

**Hemalt:** Do not believe it.

**Ravenart:** Believe what?

**Hemalt:** That I can take your advice and not my own. Besides, to be ordered around by a sponge? What reply could I, the son of a governor, give?

**Ravenart:** Do you take me for a sponge, my lord?

**Hemalt:** Yes sir. You soak up the Governor's favors, his rewards, his power. Officers like you do serve a governor best in the end. He hordes them, like a pack rat, in the corners of his jaw. First one in is the last one swallowed. When he needs what you possess, he only needs to squeeze you and, like a sponge, you're empty again.

**Ravenart:** I don't understand you, my lord.

**Hemalt:** I'm glad. Satire is wasted on fools.

**Ravenart:** My lord, you must tell us where the body is and go with us to the governor.

**Hemalt:** The body is with the governor, but the governor is not with the body. The governor is a thing...

**Guildersson:** A thing, my lord?

**Hemalt:** Of no consequence. Take me to him.

_(They all leave)_

**Part Four – The Third Bit**

_(Clavus enters, followed by several Lords)_

**Clavus:** I've sent them to look for him, and recover the body. It's very dangerous to have this man at large. But we mustn't invoke the law. The common hivers love him, and they go with appearances, not reason. They'll mull over his punishment, not his offense. To keep the peace, this sudden departure must appear to be the result of careful deliberation. Desperate diseases must be relieved by desperate remedies, or not at all.

_(Ravenart, Guildersson and the search party enter)_

Well, how did things go?

**Ravenart:** We can't get him to reveal where he hid the body, my lord.

**Clavus:** And where is he?

**Ravenart:** Outside my lord. Under guard and awaiting your pleasure.

**Clavus:** Bring him to me.

**Ravenart:** Bring in the lord!

_(Hemalt is escorted in by guards)_

**Clavus:** Now, Hemalt, where is Polon?

**Hemalt:** At supper.

**Clavus:** At supper? Where?

**Hemalt:** Not where he eats, but where he's eaten. A certain committee of wise worms is working at him even now. Your worm is a great eater. We fatten up animals to make us fat, and then we make fatter maggots. A fat lord and a skinny beggar are just different menus. Two dishes, but served at the same table. That's the end.

**Clavus:** Oh no, no.

**Hemalt:** A man can feed fish with the worm that fed off a lord, and then eat the fish that ate the worm.

**Clavus:** Meaning?

**Hemalt:** Nothing, just showing how a lord can make a regal passage through the guts of a beggar.

**Clavus:** Where is Polon?

**Hemalt:** At the Throne. Send someone to look. If they can't find him, you can look for him in the other place on your own. But if you can't find him in a month, you'll smell him as you go up the stairs into the lobby.

**Clavus:** You men, go look for him there.

**Hemalt:** He'll wait for you.

_(The men leave)_

**Clavus:** Hemalt, for your own safety, which we desire as much as we grieve over what you have done, we must send you away as swiftly as possible. Get yourself ready. The air skiff is ready, the weather is clear, and your escorts are waiting. You are going to Hive Primus.

**Hemalt:** Hive Primus?

**Clavus:** Yes, Hemalt.

**Hemalt:** Good.

**Clavus:** So, you act as if you knew my intentions.

**Hemalt:** I have my informants. But anyway, to Primus! Farewell, dear mother.

**Clavus:** I'm your loving father, Hemalt.

**Hemalt:** My mother! Father and mother are man and wife. Man and wife are one flesh. Therefore, my mother! Come on then, off to Primus!

_(He leaves)_

**Clavus:** Keep an eye on him. Get him on board as quickly as possible. No delays. I want him away tonight. Go! All the relevant documentation has been done. Quickly!

_(Everyone leaves except Clavus)_

**Clavus:** Governor of Hive Primus, if you value my goodwill, the extent of which you well know since you have barely recovered from our victory over you, and you send us tribute money, you will not disregard my wishes, which are set down in the letters conveying instructions for the immediate death of Hemalt. See that it's done, Helmwahr. He disturbs me like a raging fever, and you must cure me of it. Until I know that this is done, no matter what my previous good fortunes, my happiness has not yet started...

_(Clavus leaves)_

**Part Four – The Fourth Bit**

_(Forzinbrass enters, with his army marching over the stage)_

**Forzinbrass:** Captain, go greet the Governor of Hive Decemus on my behalf. Tell him that, as was agreed, I request safe conduct of my forces through his domain. You know where we're heading. If he wants to talk with me, I'll come in person to pay my respects. Tell him so.

**Captain:** I'll do so, my lord.

**Forzinbrass:** Advance at slow pace.

_(Everyone leaves except the Captain. Hemalt, Ravenart, Guildersson and some guards enter)_

**Hemalt:** Sir, who's forces are these?

**Captain:** Noctemus, sir.

**Hemalt:** Where are they going?

**Captain:** They're off against some part of Sextemus.

**Hemalt:** Who is in command?

**Captain:** The nephew of the Governor of Noctemus, Forzinbrass.

**Hemalt:** Is the campaign against all of Sextemus, or one of the borderlands?

**Captain:** Frankly, we're off to get some little patch of land that has no worth to it except it's name. I wouldn't pay five credits a year, not five, to lease it. It wouldn't raise any more money for Noctemus or Sextemus if it was sold outright.

**Hemalt:** Then surly the governor of Sextemus won't bother trying to defend it.

**Captain:** He already has it garrisoned.

**Hemalt:** This is a trivial issue that not even two thousand dead and twenty thousand credits will settle. It's like an abscess, full of wealth and peace, that bursts inside of a man. You can't tell from the outside what has killed him. I humbly thank you, sir.

**Captain:** Emperor watch over you.

_(The Captain leaves)_

**Ravenart:** Are you ready, my lord?

**Hemalt:** I'll rejoin you on the skiff in a minute. Go on ahead.

_(They all leave except Hemalt)_

**Hemalt:** Everything pricks at my conscience, urging me on to revenge. What good is a man, if he spends his life just sleeping and eating? No better than some beast. Surely the Emperor, who gave us the light of logic, didn't give us that ability and the power of reason so that we could let it grow moldy within us from disuse. I don't know if it's beastly ignorance or some craven indecision caused by thinking things over too much (these thoughts, when quartered, are three parts cowardice to one part wisdom) that makes me put things off. After all, I have just cause, determination, strength, and the ability to do it. Examples as obvious as this earth inspire me: look at this large and costly army, led by a youthful lord with a fiery spirit, inflated by ambition, who scoffs at the danger. He exposes their lives to all that fortune, death, and danger can inflict, all for an empty scrap of land. Apparently to be great you cannot stir without some noble cause, unless the quarrel involves some trifle where honor is at stake. And what about me? My father is murdered, my mother tainted, motives for my reason and my honor, and yet I've done nothing. To my shame, I just witnessed the imminent deaths of twenty thousand men, who for some hollow illusion of fame and renown march off to their graves as if they were going home to bed. Fighting over some scrap of land that's not even big enough to hold both side's forces or bury their dead when it's over. From now one my thoughts must concentrate on vengeance, or they are worth nothing.

_(Hemalt leaves)_

**Part Four – The Fifth Bit**

_(Gwynnude enters, with Heraht and an Attendant)_

**Gwynnude:** I won't talk with her.

**Attendant: ** She's most insistent. Out of her mind, even. She should be pitied in her distress.

**Gwynnude:** What does she want?

**Attendant: ** She talks a lot about her father, complains that the world is corrupt, coughs, beats her chest, takes offense at every little thing, and babbles foolishly, like some half-wit. What she says is nonsense, so we have to listen and infer what she means. We do our best, and piece her words together with guesswork. Judging by her winks, nods, and gestures, one would suppose they have some deep meaning; many appear to be...indelicate...but one cannot be sure.

**Heraht:** It may do good to speak to her, for she may spread dangerous rumors among the seedier elements.

**Gwynnude:** Oh, let her in.

_(The Attendant leaves)_

**Gwynnude (aside):** To my tormented soul, as is often the case with sin, every incident seems to foretell some major misfortune. Guilt is so full of fear, that it ruins itself with it's fear of being ruined.

(Ophia enters)

**Ophia:** Where is the beautiful lady of Decemus?

**Gwynnude:** How are you, Ophia?

**Ophia (sings): **

_How should I know your true love_

_From another one?_

_By his pilgrim's hat and staff_

_And his sandal's shone_.

**Gwynnude:** Alas, sweet lady, why are you singing this song?

**Ophia:** What did you say? No, listen closely:

_He is dead and gone, lady_

_He is dead and gone._

_At his head is grass-green turf,_

_At his feet a stone._

Oh no...

**Gwynnude:** But, Ophia...

**Ophia:** And this...

_White was his shroud like the mountain snow-_

_(Clavus enters)_

**Gwynnude:** Oh my lord, look at her!

**Ophia:**

_Adorned with sweet flowers_

_Which tearful to the grave did not go_

_With true-loves showers._

**Clavus:** How are you, pretty lady?

**Ophia:** Very well, Emperor watch over you. They say the owl was a baker's daughter. Lord, we know what we are, but not what we may become. Emperor be at your table.

**Clavus:** She's obsessed with her father.

**Ophia:** Do not speak of this, but when they ask you what it means, tell them this:

_Tomorrow is the Lover's Holiday, it's early morning time;_

_And I a maiden at your window longing to be thine._

_So up he rose, put on his clothes, and opened the bedroom door_

_He let in the maid, who walked out a maiden never more._

**Clavus:** Pretty Ophia...

**Ophia:** I'll end the story without an oath:

_By blood and sweet charity!_

_Alas and for shame!_

_Young men seize opportunity_

_By Cock, they are to blame!_

_She said "Before you slept with me_

_You promised we'd be wed!"_

He answers:

"_I would have done, I swear by the sun,_

_If only you hadn't come into my bed."_

**Clavus:** How long has she been like this?

**Ophia:** I hope all will be well. We must be patient. But I can do nothing but weep when I think he is dead and gone. My brother must be told about this. And so I thank you for your good advice. I must go now. Good night, ladies, good night. Sweet ladies, good night, good night.

_(Ophia leaves)_

**Clavus:** Follow her closely, and keep an eye on her, will you?

_(Heraht leaves)_

This is the poisonous effects of a deep grief. It is all because of the death of her father. Oh Gwynnude, Gwynnude, sorrows never come on their own, they're always in battalions. First, her father is killed. Next your son is gone, and he is the cause of his own banishment. The people are confused, filled with dark thoughts and whispers about Polon's death. I was wrong to bury him secretly. Poor Ophia has lost her self and her reason. Without them, we are no more than picters of people, or lowly beasts. Last, but certainly not least, her brother has returned secretly from Secundus. He drinks in these events, keeps to himself, and has no end of rumor-mongers whispering in his ear about the circumstances of his father's death. And since there are very few facts known about it, my involvement seems to grow as the rumors spread. My dear Gwynnude, all of this is like scatter shot, killing me repeatedly. _(A noise is heard outside). _ What?

**Gwynnude:** Oh no, what was that noise?

**Clavus:** Where are my guards? Watch the door!

_(A Messenger enters)_

What is the matter?

**Messenger:** Save yourself, my lord! The strongest ash storms are nothing compared to the violence of young Lerate and his rioters! They have swept aside your guards! The rabble call him "Lord" and ignore our customs and laws, crying "We've made our choice! Lerate is Governor!" Hats, voices and applause reach to the sky, "Lerate shall govern! Up with Lerate!"

**Gwynnude:** How cheerfully they charge down the wrong path. You are misled, foolish followers.

_(Another crash is heard)_

**Clavus:** They've broken down the doors!

_(Lerate enters with his followers)_

**Lerate: ** Where is this Governor? Men, keep watch outside.

**Followers:** No, let us follow you in.

**Lerate: ** Wait for me here.

**Followers:** We will. We will.

**Lerate: ** Thank you. Watch the doors.

_(The Followers leave)_

Now you, foul Governor. Give me my father!

**Gwynnude:** Calm down, good Lerate!

**Lerate: ** If one drop of my blood calms down, it'll prove that I'm a bastard, not my father's son, and that my mother is a whore.

**Clavus:** Lerate, what has caused you to lead a rebellion? Do not try to restrain him, Gwynnude. Do not fear for my safety. The Emperor provides protection for his rulers, so that treason gets no more than a glimpse of it's objectives. Tell me, Lerate. Why are you so angry? Don't get in his way, Gwynnude! Well, speak up, man!

**Lerate: ** Where is my father?

**Clavus:** Dead.

**Gwynnude:** But he didn't kill him!

**Clavus:** Let him ask what he wants.

**Lerate: ** How did he die? I'll not be trifled with! The Void take my allegiances! Powers take my oaths! Conscience and manners, to the deepest pit! I dare damnation! This is where I stand, careless of this world and the next! Whatever else happens, I will be thoroughly revenged for my father's death!

**Clavus:** Who will stop you?

**Lerate: ** No one but myself. As for my means, I'll use them so well, what I have will go farther than it should.

**Clavus:** Good Lerate, you want to know the facts about your father, but does your plan for revenge include wiping the board clean of friends as well as foes, the innocent along with the guilty?

**Lerate: ** No one but his enemies.

**Clavus:** Would you like to know who they are?

**Lerate: ** I'll open my arms wide for his good friends, and sustain them with my own life.

**Clavus:** Why, now you are talking like a true son and a gentleman. I am guiltless in your father's death, and deeply mourn his passing. And I will prove it to you.

_(Ophia is heard singing outside)_

Let her come in.

**Lerate: ** What is that noise?

_(Ophia enters)_

Anger dry out my brains! May my salted tears burn out my vision. Throne Above, your madness will be paid with my revenge until the scales tip in our balance. Young lady, my sister, sweet Ophia! Emperor, is it possible that a young girl's sanity is as vulnerable as an old man's life? The nature of love is grand, and where it is grand, it sends a precious part of itself to follow the thing it loves.

**Ophia (singing):** _They bore him bare-faced upon the bier _

_And at his grave there rained many a tear._

_Farewell, my love!_

**Lerate: ** If you were sane and arguing for revenge, you couldn't persuade me more.

**Ophia:** You must sing "A-down, a-down" and you "Call him a-down-a". It's catchy when sung in a round. It is a false servant that runs off with the master's daughter.

**Lerate: ** There's something hidden in her nonsense.

**Ophia:** Take this flower. It's for remembrance. Please, love, remember. And these flowers are for thoughts.

**Lerate: ** A lesson in madness. Thought and remembrance are fitting.

**Ophia:** Here's some weeds and thorns for you, my lady. And some rue for you, my lord. And rue for me. Rue for grace. And a flower for unrequited love. I'd give you some faithful blossoms, but they all shriveled and died with my father. They say he died well. (sings) _For happy sweet Robin is all my joy._

**Lerate: ** Thought, affliction, passion... She makes the Void itself seem pleasant and beautiful.

**Ophia (singing):**

_And will he not come again?_

_And will he not come again?_

_No, no he is dead._

_Gone to his deathbed_

_He will never come again._

_His beard was white as snow_

_His hair a flaxen flow_

_He has gone, he has gone_

_Comfort there is none_

_Emperor take his soul._

And for all good souls. Emperor walk beside you.

_(Ophia leaves)_

**Lerate: ** Can you see this, my Emperor?

**Clavus:** Lerate, do not deny my right to share in your grief. Calm yourself, and choose your wisest friends to judge your charges against me. If they find me guilty, either personally or indirectly, then I will surrender my rule to you, along with my life and all that I possess. If not, then be patient with me, and together we will make sure you discover what you are searching for.

**Lerate: ** So be it. I want to know how he died, why he had a secret funeral with no memorials, no speeches, no public mourning as befits his rank, no formal ceremony and then into an unmarked tomb. These things all demand explanation, and I must question everything.

**Clavus:** And you shall. The guilty will be punished. Come with me.

_(They all leave)_

**Part Four – The Sixth Bit**

_(Heraht enters with a Servant)_

**Heraht:** Who are these men that want to talk with me?

**Servant:** Merchant airmen, sir. They say they have messages for you.

**Heraht:** Show them in.

_(The Servant leaves)_

Other than Lord Hemalt, I don't know anyone outside Decemus who would write to me.

_(A group of airmen enter)_

**1st Airman:** Emperor watch over you, sir.

**Heraht:** And you as well.

**1st Airman:** He will, sir, if it's his will. Here's a message for you, sir. It comes from the ambassador who was on his way to Primus. If your name is Heraht, as I was led to believe.

**Heraht (reading): ** _Heraht, after you have read this, arrange for these men to met the Governor. They have messages for him as well. We were no more than a day out from Decemus when an well-armed air pirate began to pursue us. My airskiff was too slow to get away, and we were forced to bring the fight to them. Once our ships were grappled, I boarded the pirates. In that second, they broke free and I was taken as their only prisoner. They have treated me kindly, and in return I must do them a favor. Let the Governor have their letters, and then join me as swiftly as if death was after you. You will be amazed by what I have to tell you, but I'm afraid I won't do the tale justice. These airmen will bring you to me. Ravenart and Guildersson are still heading for Primus. I have much to tell you about them as well. Farewell. He that you know is yours, Hemalt._

Come with me. I'll see that these messages get to the Governor as quickly as possible. Then you can take me to the man who wrote them.

_(They leave)_

**Part 4 – The Seventh Bit**

_(Clavus enters, followed by Lerate)_

**Clavus:** Now you must admit that I am innocent. And you must embrace me as a friend, since you have heard and are fully aware that the man who killed your noble father was after my life as well.

**Lerate: ** It certainly seems so. But explain to me why you didn't take any action to stop these wicked deeds, which are capital crimes. You were definitely provoked to do so on grounds of safety, wisdom and everything else.

**Clavus:** For two reasons, which may seem fairly weak to you, but were very strong for me. First, my lady, his mother, lives for him, and to me, right or wrong, she is the center of my everything. Like a star which I must orbit, I could not go against her. The other reason I could not go public with this is because the citizens of this hive love him. Their love is so great they overlook his faults. His flaws become virtues in their eyes. My accusations would have blown back in my face. Without some sort of proof, they would never stick to him.

**Lerate: ** And so I have lost a noble father. And my sister, once praised for her perfection to the very tip of the spires, has been driven to madness. But I will have my revenge.

**Clavus:** Don't lose any sleep over that. You mustn't think that I'm so weak that I can be threatened and will treat it as a joke. You will know more soon. I loved your father like I love myself, and that, I hope, will give you an idea...

_(A Servant enters with the airmen's messages)_

**Servant: ** I have a message for you, my lord. And this one is for your lady.

**Clavus:** From Hemalt? Who brought them?

**Servant:** Airmen, my lord, or so they say. I didn't meet them. They were given to me by Claudio, who got them from the man that brought them.

**Clavus:** Lerate, you shall hear this. You may leave us.

_(The Servant leaves)_

**Clavus (reading): ** _Your high and mighty Governor. This is to let you know that I am back in your territory, stripped of my belongings. I beg your leave to appear before you tomorrow, when I shall, first begging your pardon, reveal to you the reasons for my sudden and even stranger return. Hemalt._

What's the meaning of this? Has everyone returned? Or is this some sort of hoax?

**Lerate: ** Do you recognize the handwriting?

**Clavus:** It's Hemalt's. _"Stripped of my belongings..."_ And there's a postscript that says he returned alone. Can you explain?

**Lerate: ** I have no idea, my lord. But let him come. It warms the sickness in my heart to think I'll live long enough to tell him to his face: "This is how you die."

**Clavus:** If this is true, Lerate... how can it be so, but why shouldn't it be?... Will you take my advice?

**Lerate: ** Of course, my lord, as long as you don't try to force me to make peace with him.

**Clavus:** Make peace with yourself. If he has returned from his trip, and has no intention to resume it, then this is a prime opportunity we must exploit. I will devise a situation that will trap him, and lead him to his death. No whisper of blame will come of it. Even his mother will believe it is an accident.

**Lerate: ** My lord, I will go along with you, as long as you make sure I am the instrument of his demise.

**Clavus:** That will not be a problem. There has been a lot of talk about your exploits abroad, which Hemalt has heard. They talk about a certain skill you possess which outshines all your other qualities. They are quite jealous of it, although I think it's not your best quality.

**Lerate: ** What are you talking about, my lord?

**Clavus:** A young man's ability. It is appropriate for young men to participate in fantasies, just like older men should be calm and respectable. Two months ago a noble from Quadros was here. I've seen many men from Quadros, and fought against them, and they are good horsemen. But this young noble was amazing. Like he was attached to the saddle. He did so many wonderful routines with his horse, that he might have been cyber-linked to it, or half-horse himself. He out-performed any feat of skill I had previously imagined.

**Lerate: ** From Quadros, you said?

**Clavus:** From Quadros.

**Lerate: ** That must have been Landom.

**Clavus:** The very same.

**Lerate: ** I know him very well. He's one of the brightest stars of his hive's nobility.

**Clavus:** He talked very highly of you. He told tales of your mastery of swords, particularly the rapier, and said it would be quite a sight to see any man fight as your equal. He swore that the duelists in his hive could not match you in style, defense, or accuracy when you went against them. Sir, Hemalt was so envious when he heard this, that he wished you would come back as soon as possible so that he could duel with you. Now, because of this...

**Lerate: ** What about this, my lord?

**Clavus:** Lerate, was your father dear to you? Or are you like a painting of sorrow, all appearance but no substance?

**Lerate: ** Why do you ask me that?

**Clavus:** I don't doubt that you loved your father. I just know that love begins, and experience has taught me that over time, it also diminishes. Love has within itself the means to it's own end. Nothing stays the way it was, and too much of a good thing will be it's own downfall. What we want to do, we should do while we still want it. This "want" can change, and there are as many delays as there are words or deeds or accidents. And then this "should" is like a wasted breath, which harms thing as it makes them easier. But to get back to the point, Hemalt has returned, now what would you do to prove that you're your father's son, with deeds and not words?

**Lerate: ** I'd slit his throat in the shrines!

**Clavus:** Indeed, no place should be a sanctuary against murder. Revenge should have no restraints. Lerate, this is what we'll do. You go home, and stay there. Hemalt will be told that you've returned. I'll arrange for people to praise your skills, building on the reputation spread by those from Quadros. Eventually, you two will duel, and people will bet on the outcome. He is very trusting, honest, and free from all deceit. He won't check the dueling blades, so you can easily chose one that has accidentally been included without a blunted tip. Then, with an artful lunge, you can avenge your father.

**Lerate: ** I'll do it! And for good measure, I'll use a poisoned blade. I bought an "ointment" from a poor excuse for a medicae that is so lethal, the smallest scratch brings death. There is no antidote that can save the victim. I'll put the poison on the tip of the dueling blade, so that all I have to do is scratch him, and he'll die.

**Clavus:** Let's give this more thought, and figure out the best time to do this. If this fails, and we are exposed by bad performances, then it would be better if we don't try at all. We should have a back-up plan in case this fails. I'll wager on your abilities...I have it! When your bout has gone on, and the two of you become tired and thirsty, he'll call for a drink. I'll have a special drink ready for him. He'll only have to sip it, and if he escapes you're poisoned blade, we'll achieve our objective that way. What's that commotion?

_(Gwynnude enters)_

**Gwynnude:** One sorrow follows so closely on the heels of another, that they trip each other! Your sister has drowned, Lerate!

**Lerate: ** Drowned? Where?

**Gwynnude:** There are reflecting pools down in the gardens with Terran willows. She went down there with garlands made of flowers, and when she climbed up to hang them in the branches, the branch broke and she fell into the pools with her garlands. Her clothes spread out and kept her afloat for awhile, and she sang bits of old songs without a care, as if she was used to living in the water. But her garments soaked up the water and dragged her down, singing, to her death.

**Lerate: ** And so, she's drowned?

**Gwynnude:** Drowned, drowned...

**Lerate: ** You've had enough water, sweet Ophia, so I'll forbid my tears. But it's what we do, and our nature must be obeyed, no matter how shameful it seems. _(Weeps)_ When these tears are gone, it will be the last of the emotions in me. Farewell, my lord. I have a fire in me that wants to blaze out, but these tears quench it.

_(Lereate leaves)_

**Clavus:** Let's follow him, Gwynnude. I had to do much to calm his rage. I'm afraid this will start it up again. Let's go after him.

_(They leave)_


	6. Chapter 5

**Part Five – The First Bit**

_(The mausoleums in the cliffs outside Hive Decemus. A Gravekeeper and his Assistant are at work.) _

**Gravekeeper:** So she's supposed to have a proper burial, even though she was a suicide?

**Assistant:** I told you she is, so keep at it. The coroner has looked into her case, and says it's to be a proper interment.

**Gravekeeper:** How can that be? Did she drown herself in self-defense?

**Assistant:** Well, that's their verdict.

**Gravekeeper:** It must be self offense. It can't be anything else. Here's my point: if I drown myself deliberately, that's an act. And an act has three parts: to act, to do, to perform. Therefore, she drowned herself on purpose.

**Assistant:** Yes, but listen...

**Gravekeeper:** Excuse me. Here is the water. Good. Here stands the man. Good. If the man goes into the water and drowns himself, it is, if he likes it or not, his end. Make note of that. But if the water comes to him and drowns him, he doesn't drown himself. Therefore, he that is not guilty of his own death has not shortened his own life.

**Assistant:** But is that the law?

**Gravekeeper:** 'Course it is. Coroner's inquest law.

**Assistant:** Do you want the truth? If this hadn't been a noble woman, she wouldn't be having a proper burial.

**Gravekeeper:** Too true. And it's a pity that the nobles have permission to drown or hang themselves and their fellow hivers don't. Pass me that shovel. There were no gentleman in ancient times except gardeners, ditchdiggers, and gravemakers. They followed Attam's profession.

**Assistant:** He was a gentleman, then?

**Gravekeeper:** He was the first that ever bore arms.

**Assistant:** Why, no he didn't!

**Gravekeeper:** What, are you stupid? How do you understand the scriptures? The scriptures say "Attam digged." How did he dig without arms? I'll ask you another question. If you don't know the answer, Emperor help you.

**Assistant:** Go on.

**Gravekeeper:** Who builds stronger than the mason, the shipwright, or the engineer?

**Assistant:** The gallows maker. Their structure outlives a thousand tenants.

**Gravekeeper:** I like your answer, I really do. The gallows is a good try. But how is it good? It's good for those that do evil. But you're wrong to say it's built stronger than the Shrines. Therefor, a gallows may do you some good. But try again. Come on.

**Assistant:** Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or an engineer?

**Gravekeeper:** Yup. Tell me and be free.

**Assistant:** Oh! Now I know!

**Gravekeeper:** Go on.

**Assistant:** Okay, I have no idea.

**Gravekeeper:** Don't wrack your brains over it. Your dull ass won't move any faster with a beating. When you're asked this question again, answer "a gravemaker," for the houses they make last until doomsday. Now, take the truck back to Yaughan's Tavern and get me something to drink.

_(The Assistant leaves. The gravekeeper gets back to work, clearing out a grave.)_

**Sings:** _In my youth, when I did love, did love_

_ I thought it was very sweet_

_ To shorten – O – the time for – Ah!- my delight_

_ I thought there – Ah!- was no greater -Ah!- treat!_

_(Hemalt are Heraht enter while he is singing.)_

**Hemalt:** Does this fellow have no idea what his business is? How can he sing while preparing a grave?

**Heraht:** He's used to it, and doesn't give it a second thought.

**Hemalt:** Quite so. Delicate thoughts belong to those with idle hands.

**Gravekeeper:** _But age with sneaking steps_

_ Has got me in his grasp_

_ And takes me back into the earth_

_ As if I'd never been born._

_(He tosses a skull out of his work area)_

**Hemalt:** That skull used to have a tongue, and could sing once. And he tosses it aside like it was the jawbone of the first murderer. This may be the head of some politician, whom this ass now has the better of. He could have been the sort to try to outwit the Emperor, might he not?

**Heraht:** Maybe, my lord.

**Hemalt:** Or some courtier, who would say "Good morning, my dear lord. How are you, my good lord?" This could be the skull of Lord So-and-so, who praised Lord Whoever's horse, when he really was trying to borrow it, might it not?

**Heraht:** Yes, my lord.

**Hemalt:** Yes indeed. And now he belongs to the worms. His jaw's gone and he's been whacked upside the head by a careless gravekeeper. This is a fine example of the wheel of fortune, if we are willing to see it. Were these bones born for no other reason but to be used for games? My bones ache to think about it.

**Gravekeeper (singing):**

_A pickaxe and a spade, a spade,_

_ An enwrapping shroud, a sheet_

_ Oh a pit of clay that's specially made_

_ For when the guest is meat._

_(He tosses out another skull)_

**Hemalt:** There's another one. Couldn't this be the skull of a lawyer? Where are his objections, speeches, cases, titles and clever tricks now? Why does he let this uncultured knave smack him upside the head, and not accuse him of battery? Hmm. Maybe he was a property buyer for some noble house, possessing mortgages, title bonds, fines, backers and foreclosures. Is this the reward for all his fines and foreclosures, to have his head filled with fine dust? Will his backers back up no more of his purchases than the length and breadth of an interment? The legal paperwork for his properties alone would fill this funeral box, doesn't he inherit any space for himself?

**Heraht:** Not an iota more, my lord.

**Hemalt:** Isn't parchment made of animal skins?

**Heraht:** Yes, my lord.

**Hemalt:** Only animals would seek protection behind legal parchment. I'll talk with this fellow. Whose grave is this, sir?

**Gravekeeper:** Mine, sir.

**(Sings): ** _Oh a pit of clay that's specially made_

**Hemalt:** I believe it really is yours,since you're lying in it.

**Gravekeeper:** You lie out of it, so it's not yours. As for me, I don't lie in it, but it is mine.

**Hemalt:** You are lying in it. You are inside it, and you claim it's yours. It's for the dead, not the living. Therefor, you are lying.

**Gravekeeper:** It's a rubber lie, sir. It goes from me to you.

**Hemalt:** Who is the man you're preparing it for?

**Gravekeeper:** For no man, sir.

**Hemalt:** What woman, then?

**Gravekeeper:** No woman neither.

**Hemalt:** Who is to be buried in it, then?

**Gravekeeper:** Someone who was a woman, sir, but Emperor watch over her, now she's dead.

**Hemalt:** This simpleton is too literal. I'll have to speak clearly, or he'll talk me in circles. Throne Above, Heraht. These last three years I've noticed we've become so "cultured" that hivers walk so close behind nobles that they trod on their heels. How long have you been a gravekeeper?

**Gravekeeper:** I started on the day that our last Governor Hemalt defeated Forzinbrass.

**Hemalt:** How long ago was that?

**Gravekeeper:** Don't you know? Every fool knows that. It was the same day that young Hemalt was born. The one who's gone mad and was sent to Hive Primus.

**Hemalt:** Oh, of course. Why was he sent to Primus?

**Gravekeeper:** Well, because he was mad. He'll recover his wits there. Although, if he doesn't, it won't matter much.

**Hemalt:** Why is that?

**Gravekeeper:** They won't notice. Men are all as mad as he is over there.

**Hemalt:** Do you know how he went mad?

**Gravekeeper:** Very strangely, they say.

**Hemalt:** What do you mean, "strangely"?

**Gravekeeper:** Well, it was caused by losing his wits.

**Hemalt:** On what grounds?

**Gravekeeper:** Why, right here in Decemus. I've been gravekeeper here since I was a boy, going on thirty years.

**Hemalt:** How long does a man lie in the ground before he rots?

**Gravekeeper:** Throne, if he already isn't rotten when he dies, and we get a lot of rotten corpses nowadays that barely last until they're put away, he can last about eight or nine years. Forge workers will last about nine years.

**Hemalt:** Why do they last longer than others?

**Gravekeeper:** Because, sir, his skin is so toughened by his work that it takes longer for the worms to eat him. And worms love a good dead body. Here's another skull that's been interred here for some twenty-three years.

**Hemalt:** Whose was it?

**Gravekeeper:** A mad whoreson this fellow was. Who do you think it was?

**Hemalt:** I really don't know.

**Gravekeeper:** A pestilence on him, he was truly mad. He poured a pitcher of good beer over my head once. This skull, sir, was Yorick's skull. The Governor's favorite comedian.

**Hemalt:** This?

**Gravekeeper:** That very one.

**Hemalt:** Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Heraht. He was a man of infinite jest, and excellent imagination. He carried me on his back thousands of times. And now, this is worse than I could imagine. I feel sick thinking about it. Here were the cheeks I kissed I don't know how often. Where are your jokes now, your bad dances, your songs, your quick wit that often sent the tables into roars of laughter? You can't make fun of this grin. Cat got your tongue? Quick, go to my lady's chambers and tell her that no matter how much she paints her face, she'll still look like you one day. Make her laugh at that. Heraht, tell me one thing.

**Heraht:** What's that, my lord?

**Hemalt:** Do you think Xander Helmwahr the Great looked like this after death?

**Heraht:** Just the same.

**Hemalt:** And smelled this bad? Ugh! (Throws down the skull)

**Heraht:** Exactly the same, my lord.

**Hemalt:** To what common uses we may be turned, Heraht. Why, couldn't your imagination trace the noble dust of Xander until you find him plugging a beer keg?

**Heraht:** That's a strange train of thought.

**Hemalt:** No it isn't. It's a matter of following the trail to it's likely conclusions. Xander died, was interred and turned to dust. Dust gets everywhere, so his dust could filter it's way into a factory where it finds it's way into materials destined to plug filled beer kegs.

_Noble Sleazer, dead and turned to ash_

_ Might fill a hole that needs a patch._

_ Oh that that ash, which kept the hive in thrall_

_ Should one day be used to patch a hole in the wall._

But that's enough of that. Here comes the Governor, his lady, and other members of the court.

_(A Priest, Clavus, Gwynnude, and Lerate enter with a coffin and other Nobles and Attendants)_

Who are they mourning? And with very little ceremony. That suggests that the deceased committed suicide. It looks like they were of the nobility.

**Lerate:** No other ceremonies?

**Hemalt:** That's Lerate. He's high in the nobility. Listen to what he says.

**Lerate:** Are there no other ceremonies?

**Priest:** We have performed what rites we have been permitted. The cause of her death is in question. If the Governor had not commanded us otherwise, she would have had a simple funeral and then gone to the furnaces. She would have gone to her end with the refuse of the hive, instead of being remembered with sympathetic prayers. Here, she is allowed her virgin's funeral clothes, flowers and remembrances, and the use of bell and burial rites to inter her.

**Lerate:** But is that all?

**Priest:** We can do no more. We would profane the Service of the Dead if we sang requiems and put her to rest like those who died naturally.

**Lerate:** Place her in the tomb, and may her virginal flesh remain unsullied. I will tell you this, you graceless Priest**:** my sister will be a ministering angel by the Emperor's side while you lie howling in the Void.

**Hemalt:** What? The beautiful Ophia?

**Gwynnude (scattering flowers):** Sweets to the sweet. Farewell. I had hoped you would have been my Hemalt's wife. I thought I would have layered flowers on your bridal bed, sweet maid, not spread them on your grave.

**Lerate:** May countless sorrows heap upon that cursed head whose wicked deeds drove you to madness! Don't seal her in, not until I've held her one last time!

_(Climbs onto the coffin)_

Seal us in, the living and the dead! Build a mound over us that shadows the tips of the Hive and towers over the Spire of Decemus!

**Hemalt:** Who is it whose grief is so great, that his words of sorrow transfix the wandering stars and makes them stand still, wounded with wonder? It is I, Hemalt Dunmarc!

**Lerate (grapples with him):** Daemons take your soul!

**Hemalt:** That is not a fitting prayer! Take your fingers away from my throat! I am not easily angered, or rash, but there is something dangerous in me that you would be wise to fear! Take your hands off me!

**Clavus:** Separate them!

**Gwynnude:** Hemalt! Hemalt!

**All:** Gentlemen!

**Heraht:** My lord! Restrain yourself!

**Hemalt:** Why? I'll fight him about this issue until my eyes have seen their last!

**Gwynnude:** Oh, my son! About what issue?

**Hemalt:** I loved Ophia! Forty thousand brothers, with all their lightweight love combined, could not equal mine! What will you do for her?

**Clavus:** He is mad, Lerate!

**Gwynnude:** By the Emperor, leave him alone!

**Hemalt:** Damn it! Show me what you'll do! Will you weep? Will you fight? Will you fast? Will you tear yourself? Will you drink vinegar? Will you eat a crocolisk? I'll do it! Did you come here to whine, to upstage me by leaping into her grave? Be buried alive with her, and so will I! If you prattle on about mountains, let them heap millions of acres on us until the earth groans with the weight and we are singed against the world's core! Let Hive Primus look like a wart compared to it! If you want to mouth off, I'll rant as well as you!

**Gwynnude:** This is sheer madness! He'll be in this fit for awhile, and then he'll calm down and be as meek and mild as a mother watching her sleeping child.

**Hemalt:** Listen, sir. Why are you treating me like this? I always liked you. But that doesn't matter. No matter what you do, the sun will rise and the winds will blow as the will.

_(Hemalt leaves)_

**Clavus:** Heraht, will you look after him?

_(Heraht follows after Hemalt)_

Lerate, be patient and think of what we discussed last night. We'll get things started immediately. Gwynnude, send someone to watch over your son. We'll post guards at the grave. We'll hold off the rites for an hour; be patient until then.

_(They all leave)_

**Part Five – The Second Bit**

_(Back inside Decemus. Hemalt and Heraht enter)_

**Hemalt:** So much for that letter I sent you. Now I'll tell you the rest. Do you remember all the circumstances of my departure?

**Heraht:** Of course, my lord.

**Hemalt:** I had this inner turmoil that wouldn't let me sleep. I felt worse than captured mutineers who are bound in chains. Rashly, and thank the Emperor for my rashness, for sometimes our instincts serve us better when our careful planning has gone wrong; this should be a lesson that no matter what we plan, sometimes the Emperor has his own plans for us...

**Heraht:** That's certain.

**Hemalt:** ...I left my cabin dressed like one of the crew and made my way through the dark to find them. I liberated their documents and returned to my cabin. I dared to open their sealed official papers, and inside I found -ah, such a noble betrayal!- precise orders, along with many reasons concerning both the governors of Decemus and Primus, that upon reading the letter, without delay, not even long enough to sharpen the blade, my head should be cut off.

**Heraht:** I don't believe it!

**Hemalt:** Here's the commission. Read it at your leisure. Do you want to hear what I did after this?

**Heraht:** Please tell me.

**Hemalt:** Since I was surrounded by enemies, before I even knew what I was doing, I found myself sitting down and writing a new commission. I had been taught the proper ways to write such things, and I once believed that it was over-done and tried very hard to forget those lessons. But they served me very well this time. Would you like to know what I wrote?

**Heraht:** Yes, my lord.

**Hemalt:** I made an earnest plea from the Governor of Decemus: since the Governor of Primus pays tribute, and so peace may flourish between them, and so they may grow in friendship, and many more things like that; that once the commission had been read and it's contents were known, he should immediately put its bearers to death, without the slightest delay.

**Heraht:** What did you do about the official seal?

**Hemalt:** Why, even there the Emperor guided my way. I have my father's signet ring, which is identical to the Governor's Seal. I folded the forgery like the real commission, signed it, sealed it, and replaced it safely. They never noticed the switch. The next day was the raid by the air pirates, and you already know what happened after that.

**Heraht:** So Ravenart and Guildersson are off to their own deaths?

**Hemalt:** Why, man, they loved their work. They're not on my conscience. Their fall comes from their own attempts to ingratiate themselves. It's risky for common men to step into the affairs of nobles.

**Heraht:** What kind of government is this!

**Hemalt:** It's up to me now, don't you think? He killed my noble father, corrupted my mother, stepped between me and my expected succession, and attempted to take my life. After such actions, wouldn't it be just if I took his life with my own hands? And wouldn't it be damning to let this unnatural tumor fester and cause more harm?

**Heraht:** It won't be long before he learns what happens from the Governor of Primus.

**Hemalt:** Not long at all. But the time in between is mine. It doesn't take very long to end a man's life. But I am sorry, Heraht, that I lost control of myself with Lerate. Upon reflection, I see his cause mirrors mine. I'll make it up to him. It's just that his melodramatic grief threw me into such a rage.

**Heraht:** Quiet, who is this, that comes our way?

_(Othryk enters, a minor noble)_

**Othryk:** Your lordship is right welcome back in Decemus.

**Hemalt:** I humbly thank you, sir. Heraht, do you know this pretty-boy?

**Heraht:** No, my lord.

**Hemalt:** That's one in your favor, then. It's a vice to know him. He owns many large, prosperous properties. Let a beast be lord of other beasts, and the Governor will invite him to eat at his own table. He's a rat, but, as I said, he packs a lot of property.

**Othryk:** Sweet lord, if your lordship has a spare moment, I would impart a message from the Governor.

**Hemalt:** I will receive it, good sir, with good spirits. Use your hat properly, it's meant for your head.

**Othryk:** I thank you, my lord. It's a bit hot out here.

**Hemalt:** No, believe me. It's very cold. There's a north wind.

**Othryk:** It is rather cold, my lord, indeed.

**Hemalt:** But yet I believe it is rather hot and sultry for my complexion.

**Othryk:** Exceedingly so, my lord. It is very sultry, as it were... I have not the words. My lord, the Governor has sent me to signify to you that he has made a great wager on your head. Sir, the situation is this...

**Hemalt:** Replace your hat, please. If you would...

**Othryk:** No, my good lord, it's for my ease, in all faith. Sir, Lerate has recently returned to court. He is an absolute gentleman, you may believe me. He is full of excellent qualities, highly gifted and very distinguished. Indeed, to give him the proper credit, he is the very example of quality breeding. He contains all the parts a gentleman should strive for.

**Hemalt:** Sir, your description of him does you justice. Although I know that to inventory his individual qualities would tax the mind, for he is so extraordinarily gifted. But to give him full justice, I believe he is worth the effort of evaluation. His qualities are so rare, that to describe him adequately, one could only compare him to his reflection in a mirror. Anyone else trying to match him would be his shadow, and nothing more.

**Othryk:** Your lordship speaks most flawlessly of him.

**Hemalt:** This concerns us how, sir? Why are we panting our admiration of him?

**Othryk:** Sir?

**Heraht:** Can't you speak more simply? You'll try, I'm sure.

**Hemalt:** Why talk about him at all?

**Othryk:** About Lerate?

**Heraht:** He's bankrupt already. He has no golden praise left.

**Hemalt:** About him, sir.

**Othryk:** I know you are not ignorant...

**Hemalt:** I wish you did, sir. Although if you did, it wouldn't give me much credit. Well, sir?

**Othryk:** You are not ignorant of Lerate's excellence...

**Hemalt:** I wouldn't admit to that, or I'd be comparing myself with his excellence. But to know a man well is to know yourself.

**Othryk:** I mean, sir, his excellence with his weapon. According to those that know him, he has no equal.

**Hemalt:** What is his weapon?

**Othryk:** The rapier and the dagger.

**Hemalt:** That's two weapons, but oh well.

**Othryk:** The Lord Governor has wagered six Tallarn horses, against which Lerate has staked,I believe, six Secundus rapiers and daggers with all their accessories; belts, straps and so on. Three of the carriages, by the Throne, are very pleasing to the eye. They're very well matched with the sword hilts. Very fine carriages, and excellently crafted.

**Hemalt:** What are these carriages you speak of?

**Heraht:** I knew you'd need a translator before he was finished.

**Othryk:** The carriages, sir, are the straps.

**Hemalt:** That word would be more appropriate if we were mounting cannons on our sides. Unless we're talking about gun carriages, I'd prefer to call them straps. But carry on. Six Tallarn horses against six Secundus swords, their accessories, and three fancifully named "carriages". That's Secundus bet against Decemus. But why did you say they were "staked"?

**Othryk:** The Governor, sir, has wagered that in a dozen bouts between you and Lerate, he will not win three more than you. Lerate, sir, has wagered that he will win nine of the twelve strikes. It could be settled immediately if your lordship would be so good as to grant an answer.

**Hemalt:** What if I answer "no?"

**Othryk:** I mean, my lord, "accept the challenge."

**Hemalt:** I will go for a walk in the main hall. It's my exercise time, if that's all right with the Governor. If the dueling swords are brought there, and the gentleman is willing, and the Governor hasn't changed his mind, then I will win for him if I can. If I can't, then I'll gain a little shame and some odd bruises.

**Othryk:** Shall I quote you on this?

**Hemalt:** To the effect. You can use whatever flowery words you like.

**Othryk:** I commend myself to your lordship's service.

**Hemalt:** Thanks

_(Othryk leaves)_

He commends himself well, since no one will do it for him.

**Heraht:** The lap dog runs off with his cap back on.

**Hemalt:** He'd bow to the breast before he'd nurse off it. And so he, and many others I know that are like him, are able to get around the courts these days. Only capable of empty platitudes and small talk, they manage to float through life in the courts. But put them to the test, and their bubbles will burst.

_(A Noble enters)_

**Noble:** My lord, the Governor sent word to you through young Othryk, who returned to say you would await him in the main hall. He has sent me to discover if you still intend to compete with Lerate, or would you rather do so later.

**Hemalt:** I will hold to my word. I'm at the Governor's service. If he's prepared, then so am I. Now or whenever, as long as I'm able.

**Noble:** The Governor, the Lady, and the court are all coming down.

**Hemalt:** That's good timing.

**Noble:** My Lady has asked that you show courtesy to Lerate before you begin.

**Hemalt:** She instructs me well.

_(The Noble leaves)_

**Heraht:** You will lose this wager, my lord.

**Hemalt:** I don't think so. Since he left for Secundus, I've been practicing continuously. I will win with these odds. You wouldn't believe how heavy my heart is, but that doesn't matter.

**Heraht:** But, my lord...

**Hemalt:** It's silly. The sort of misgivings that might trouble a woman.

**Heraht:** If you feel uneasy, listen to yourself. I will meet them on their way down, and tell them you don't feel well.

**Hemalt:** You will not. We defy premonitions. Destiny cannot be stopped. If it's now, it's not in the future. If it's not in the future, then it must be now. If it's not now, then it will come. Being prepared is all that matters. Since no man knows what he will miss, what's so bad about leaving early? Let it be.

_(Attendants enter and set up a table. A fanfare announces the entrance of guards with cushions. Clavus, Gwynnude and Lerate enter, along with the court nobles of Decemus, and men-at-arms carrying dueling swords and daggers.)_

**Clavus:** Come, Hemalt, come here. Shake Lerate's hand.

_(He puts Lerate's hand into Hemalt's)_

**Hemalt:** I beg your pardon, sir. I have done you wrong. Forgive me since you are a gentleman. This assembly knows, and I'm sure you've heard, that I have been suffering some distractions. What I have done to offend your nature, honor, and sense, I here proclaim was madness. Was it Hemalt that wronged Lerate? Hemalt would never do it. If Hemalt is not himself, and the not-himself Hemalt wrongs Lerate, then Hemalt has not done it, Hemalt denies doing it, and so who has done it? His madness. If this is so, then Hemalt is on the side of those that were wronged. His madness is poor Hemalt's enemy. Sir, before this audience, let my denial that I acted with deliberate malice free me in your thoughts, and accept that I hurt you, my brother, accidentally.

**Lerate:** My natural feelings, which should drive me to revenge, are satisfied. I reserve judgment as far as honor is concerned. And to save my good name, I will not consider reconciliation until more experienced minds have judged in favor of it. Until that time, I accept your offer of friendship at face value, and will not reject it off-hand.

**Hemalt:** I embrace it freely, and will take part in this contest between brothers. Give us the dueling blades.

**Lerate:** Come, one for me.

**Hemalt:** I'll be your foil, Lerate. My incompetence will make your skill shine like stars in the blackest night.

**Lerate:** You are mocking me, sir.

**Hemalt:** No, I swear it.

**Clavus:** Give them the dueling blades, Othryk. Cousin Hemalt, do you know the wager?

**Hemalt:** Very well. Your lordship has backed the weaker side.

**Clavus:** I'm not worried. I have seen you both duel, but because he has better form, we have the better odds.

**Lerate:** This one is too heavy. Let me see another one.

**Hemalt:** I like this one. These blades are all the same length?

**Othryk:** Yes, my lord.

_(They prepare to duel. Servants enter with bottles of wine.)_

**Clavus:** Set the wine on the table. If Hemalt wins the first or second hit, or draws even on the third, let all the cannons fire. I will drink to Hemalt's continued success. And I'll toss a pearl into the cup that is more valuable than the pearl worn upon the brow of four successive Governors of Decemus. Give me the cups. Let the drums signal the trumpets, and the trumpets signal the artillerymen, and the cannons signal the heavens, and the heavens the earth: "The Governor drinks to Hemalt"! Come, let's begin! Judges, keep your eyes open.

**Hemalt:** Come on, sir!

**Lerate:** Come on, my lord!

_(Hemalt and Lerate duel their first match)_

**Hemalt:** One!

**Lerate:** No.

**Hemalt:** Ruling!

**Othryk:** A hit, a very definite hit.

**Lerate:** Fine. Again.

**Clavus:** Hold a moment. Give me the drink. Hemalt, this pearl is yours. Here's to your health.

_(Drum, trumpet, cannon fire)_

Give him the cup.

**Hemalt:** I'll fight this match first. Set the cup aside. Come, again.

_(They duel again)_

Another hit. What do you say?

**Lerate:** A touch, just a touch. But it's yours.

**Clavus:** Our son will win.

**Gwynnude:** He's out of shape and out of breath. Hemalt, take my handkerchief and wipe your brow. I drink to your good fortune, Hemalt!

**Hemalt:** Thank you, madam.

**Clavus:** Gwynnude, do not drink!

**Gwynnude:** I will, my lord. Pardon me, if you will.

_(Gwynnude drinks, then offers the cup to Hemalt)_

**Clavus (aside):** It's the poisoned cup! It's too late!

**Hemalt:** I dare not drink yet, madam. Soon enough.

**Gwynnude:** Come, let me wipe your face.

**Lerate:** My lord, I'll strike him now.

**Clavus:** I don't think you will.

**Lerate (aside):** And yet, it is almost against my conscience.

**Hemalt:** Come on, time for the third match, Lerate. You're wasting time. Please, try your best. I think you are just humoring me.

**Lerate:** Really? Come on!

_(They duel again. They lock swords. It is a tie.)_

**Othryk:** No points to either side.

**Lerate:** Have at you now!

_(Lerate wounds Hemalt. They scuffle, and in the confusion trade swords)_

**Clavus:** Separate them! They've lost control.

**Hemalt:** Right, then. Come again!

_(He wounds Lerate with the poisoned weapon. Gwynnude collapses.)_

**Othryk:** See to Lady Gwynnude! Stop the fight!

**Heraht:** They are both bleeding! How are you, my lord?

**Othryk:** How are you, Lerate?

**Lerate:** Like a rat caught in it's own trap, Othryk. I am justly killed by my own treachery.

**Hemalt:** What's the matter with my mother?

**Clavus:** She has fainted at the sight of blood.

**Gwynnude:** No, no! The drink! The drink! Oh, my dear Hemalt! The drink! The drink! I've been poisoned...

**Hemalt:** What is this? Stop! Lock the doors! Treachery! Seek it out!

_(Othryk leaves)_

**Lerate:** It's right here, Hemalt. Hemalt, you're dead as well. No medicine in the world can help you. You have less than half an hour to live. You are holding the treason. That sword is not blunted, and it's been poisoned. The deception has turned on me as well. Look, here I lie. I will never rise again. Your mother has also been poisoned. I can't stand this anymore. The Governor! Governor Clavus is to blame!

**Hemalt:** The point is poisoned as well? Then, venom, do your work!

_(He stabs Clavus)_

**All:** Treason! Treason!

**Clavus:** Defend me, my friends! It's just a scratch!

**Hemalt:** Here, you incestuous, murderous, damned Dunmarc! Finish the drink! Is your "pearl" in here? Follow my mother!

_(He forces Clavus to drink. Clavus dies.)_

**Lerate:** It is only just. It is a poison he concocted himself. Exchange forgiveness with me, Hemalt. Be cleared of my death and my father's, and I'll not be blamed for yours.

_(Lerate dies)_

**Hemalt:** May the Emperor forgive you for this. I follow after you. I'm a dead man, Heraht. Unhappy lady, farewell Mother. You who look frightened, and tremble at what you have witnessed, you who are mute witnesses to these acts... If only I had the time, but Death is a strict Arbites, ruthless in his captures. I could tell you...but enough of that. Heraht, I am as good as dead. You are living. Give a just account of me and my motives to those that don't know the full story.

**Heraht:** Don't you believe it. I'll chose death before dishonor. There's still some drink left in the cup.

**Hemalt:** If you're a true man, give me that cup! Let go of it! By the Throne, I'll have it! Emperor Above, Heraht, my name will be cursed if the truth is never known! If you ever had any friendship for me, don't commit suicide. Stay in this harsh world and tell my story.

_(A distant booming is heard)_

What's that noise?

_(Othryk enters)_

**Othryk:** Young Forzinbrass has returned from his conquests around Sextemus. He fires his artillery in honor of the ambassadors from Hive Primus.

**Hemalt:** I'm dying, Heraht. This poison is powerful and I cannot resist it. I will not survive to hear the news from Primus. But I believe Forzinbrass will be appointed the new Governor of Decemus. He has my dying support. Tell him that, and give the general details that have persuaded...but all is silent now.

_(Hemalt dies)_

**Heraht:** How my heart breaks. Good night, sweet prince. May flights of angels escort you to your rest.

_(Marching footsteps)_

Why are they coming this way?

_(Forzinbrass enters, along with Ambassadors from Primus and an honor guard of Noctemus guardsmen, with drums and banners.)_

**Forzinbrass:** Where is the show?

**Heraht:** What do you want to see? If it's something sad and disastrous, look no further.

**Forzinbrass:** This is the very vision of a massacre! What feast is Death holding that requires so many noble guests all at once?

**1****st**** Ambassador:** This sight is appalling, and our news from Primus has come too late. The one who should hear the confirmation of the deaths of Ravenart and Guildersson will never know his orders were fulfilled. Whom should we turn to for thanks?

**Heraht:** Not from him, even if he could thank you. He didn't order you to kill them. However, since you all have arrived so opportunely at such a bloody time, order that these bodies be placed high on display for all to see, and I will explain to everyone at once how these things came to pass. You will hear of lustful, bloody, and unnatural acts; of rash judgments and accidental murders; of deaths brought about by cunning and deliberate acts; and, in this case, plans that have backfired and claimed their creators. All this I can truly give you.

**Forzinbrass:** Tell us immediately, and gather all the court together. As for me, it is with a heavy heart that I seize my opportunity. I have some rights to the rule of this Hive, which have not been forgotten. Now is the time for me to claim them.

**Heraht:** I have something to say about that as well. They are Hemalt's dying wishes. But let the funeral ceremony take place at once, even though everyone is so aflutter, so that nothing worse can happen.

**Forzinbrass:** Four of my captains will bear Hemalt like a hero to the platform. Had he lived to be invested, he would have surely made a noble ruler. To mark his passing, military honors and salutes will speak for him. Raise up the bodies. Such a sight as this belongs on the battlefield, it is out of place in a hall like this. Go. Order the honor guard to sound the volleys.

_(The drummers strike up a march as the bodies are carried off. Volleys of gunshots echo as everyone leaves.)_


End file.
